Aftershock: Curtis
by Cirocco
Summary: 'Aftershock', mostly from Rey Curtis' point of view.
1. Execution

**CHAPTER 1: EXECUTION**

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned.  It's been a week since my last confession," Rey Curtis mumbled automatically.  "Um... I lied to my wife," Father Morelli made a disapproving sound, "I was following a lead with a case and I was supposed to be home for dinner.  She invited these friends of hers and I missed it.  I sort of... forgot."

Morelli's silence spoke volumes.  Rey sighed.

"...I forgot because I didn't really wanna remember.  When this lead looked like it might be good, I thought, better call Deborah and tell her I'll be late, but then I knew she'd probably say I had to come home so I just put it out of my mind."

"Why do you think you did that?"

"I don't like her friends very much," he admitted sheepishly.  "It's an old college friend of hers and her idiot husband.  Deborah and Sylvia gossip about people they knew in college, and I'm stuck talking to Burt.  He just goes on and on about commissions and sales projections and his boss... and they don't have kids, so they always look at us like we're letting our kids run wild when they're just being kids."

"Did you tell Deborah that you didn't want to have dinner with these people?"

"Oh she knows.  But she puts up with some of my old college buddies sometimes, so we both figure it's only fair I put up with hers."

"You said you lied to her?"

"Yeah... She called to let me know they were all waiting for me, and... I told her I couldn't leave just then, said there was an important break in the case.  She was pretty mad but she let it go.  I ended up not making it home."

"And that wasn't true?"

"No," Rey sighed.  "Lennie started to tell me I could go home - it was a nothing lead, and he coulda handled it by himself no problem.  I told him to be quiet and told Deborah I couldn't make it to dinner.  I just didn't wanna put up with Burt." He wondered at himself.  Sometimes he thought he hadn't matured much since high school.

"Well, you know what you have to do."

"I know, I know," Father Morelli had a thing about honesty in marriage.  Damned annoying; he'd rather spend the afternoon doing the Stations of the Cross than fight with Deborah.  "I'm gonna go confess to Father Galvez next time, he just has me do a rosary," he muttered, and Father Morelli laughed.

"Good for Father Galvez.  You'll notice I'm not him," he said cheerfully, "And you know marriage is built on honesty and trust.  It may be a minor lie, but you have to admit to it."

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

"I don't envy you.  Deborah's got quite a temper."

"Yeah, well, so do I," Rey admitted.

"That's why you two get along so well, you both have a healthy respect for each other's more dramatic moments," Morelli pointed out humorously.  "Go, take it like a man, just make sure you buy her flowers before you tell her," he added helpfully, noticing, not for the first time, that Rey's confessions often turned into more of an informal chat than a serious confession.  It was a nice break for Morelli, regular as clockwork every Tuesday, very low stress.

It also wasn't surprising, since they were the same age and very similar in many ways.  Rey volunteered at the church and they often worked together as equals.  Morelli had often asked his advice on matters of the church and even sometimes on semi-personal issues.  Not that Rey didn't respect him, it wasn't that at all, but their relationship was more one of friends than penitent-priest.  The title 'Father', though Rey never omitted it, sometimes sounded a little strange.

"Do I have to?" Rey said plaintively, mimicking his daughter's expression with a smile.

"You bet," Morelli chuckled.

"You're a hard man to please, Father."

"And out of respect for Father Galvez's learned wisdom, tack on a rosary too."

"Gee, thanks."

"Is there anything else?"

Rey thought for a minute.  Oh yeah.  "I swore in front of my daughters the other day.  Banged my elbow on the counter and it just came out."

"Rey.  You need to watch your language," Morelli admonished him.

"Father, I spend all day with cops and criminals.  They don't have the most squeaky-clean language in the world."

"Yes, but you spend evenings and weekends with three impressionable young children.  You're their role model.  You can never lose sight of what an awesome responsibility that is."

"I know, I know."

"Ten Hail Mary's.  And watch your mouth."

"Yes, Father."

"Anything else?"

"Um... I said some stuff to my partner I probably shouldn't have."

"What did you say?"  Morelli made a bet with himself that it was probably another tactless remark about his partner's past.  Rey wasn't the most understanding person in the world when it came to other people's failures, and his partner had a rather checkered history.  Rey was always saying things he regretted later.

"We were arguing about a suspect.  Lennie said the only reason I suspected him was that he was leaving his wife, and said I was 'holier-than-thou', so I said that the only reason he didn't suspect him was he figured any guy who left his wife was a hero.  And that just because he was a failure at marriage didn't mean the institution was a load of, uh, garbage," he edited the final word out of respect for Father Morelli.

"Not very kind," Morelli said dryly.

"No, not really.  He's a good guy, but he gets on my nerves when he puts down everything I believe in.  He jokes about being an alcoholic, being divorced twice.  And sometimes I laugh but sometimes I just don't find it that funny."

"You missed your calling; you should have been a deacon," Morelli commented, and Rey smiled.  Morelli privately agreed with many of Rey's snap judgments of the human failings he saw around him, but sometimes felt that it was too easy for Rey to talk; his wife was young, pretty, devoted to him, and they were still very much in love.  Morelli wondered just how well Rey would deal with some of the domestic situations he heard about from his other parishioners.  "Not everybody has a picture-perfect marriage, Rey," he chided him.

"My marriage isn't picture-perfect, Father," Rey protested.  "Like you said, we've both got tempers.  And right now we're having trouble sometimes over the whole fourth-child thing."

"I thought you settled that."

"We did, we did, it's just... I understand she doesn't want another baby right now that Isabel's not even two.  And I agree, for now.  I know she's got a full plate with the three girls, but... I'd really like us to have a boy, you know?  I love my daughters, but I'd like a son too.  And she's not that sympathetic.  You know Deborah, former campus feminist.  She says if I wanna go fishing or play baseball with my kids, there's no reason I can't do that with a daughter.  She just doesn't get it," he sighed.  "Besides, this 'restraint' thing for half the month gets a little old sometimes," he added.

Father Morelli shook his head in amusement, glad that Rey couldn't see his expression.  Rey and Deborah Curtis had their problems, like all couples, but he often smiled indulgently when one of them complained about the other.  Their problems were so minor compared to the heart-wrenching tales of abuse, alcoholism, infidelity, and loss of love that he heard from other couples.  Rey and Deborah actually made him envious sometimes, especially when he was invited to their home for supper and saw how much they loved each other, how well they complemented each other.

"OK, what do you think you should do about your partner?" he brought them back on track.

Rey sighed.  After confessing to Father Morelli for six years, he knew the drill by heart.  "Apologize to him," he said, almost by rote, "and try not to judge him.  I haven't lived his life, I shouldn't judge what I haven't been through."

"Very good.  Think you can remember that next time you're tempted to shoot off at the mouth to him?"

"Probably not," Rey admitted, chuckling.  "But I'll try."

As Rey prepared to leave the confessional, Father Morelli was reminded of something.

"Oh, Rey, are you coming to the bazaar the day after tomorrow?"

"Yeah, probably, it's my day off after I come back from the execution.  The kids have swimming in the morning, so I'll probably bring Deborah and the kids in the afternoon.  Just don't be surprised if she's still steamed at me over the dinner thing."

"So you are still planning on going to the execution?"  An ardent opponent of the death penalty, it chilled Morelli somewhat to hear Rey talk so casually about going to a church bazaar after watching a man be put to death.  Then again, maybe if he had spent as much time dealing with the aftermath of that man's crime as Rey had, he might not feel much sorrow over his impending death either.

"Yeah, I'm going with Lennie."

"Did you think about what we talked about?"

"Yes, Father.  And I agree with you that I should go, I just don't think it's gonna change my mind about the death penalty."

"Come and talk to me afterwards if you feel you need to," Morelli said gently.

"I will," Rey promised automatically, sure that he would need to do no such thing.

**ooo000ooo**

As he left the confessional, Rey saw that the next person getting ready to go in was Harold Estevez.  That should keep Father Morelli busy for a while - Harold was a drunk and a wife-beater, and Rey didn't envy Father Morelli's job dealing with him.  He'd heard enough about him from Deborah, who counseled his wife Millie.  He didn't think he'd be able to absolve the guy over and over again.  Harold also ran around on his wife - not that Millie minded that much, since at least if he was with another woman he wasn't hitting her.  But what was the point of taking marriage vows if you didn't keep them?

In six years of marriage, it had never occurred to Rey to cheat on his wife - not for more than a couple of minutes, anyway.  Sure, he'd been tempted a few times, there were lots of pretty faces around, and he got his share of innocent flirtations and outright come-ons, but none of them made much of an impression.  He just didn't _get_ married people who could just hop into another person's bed like it was nothing.  Besides... thinking about how Deborah was probably going to be pretty pissed at him tonight after he told her about dinner the other day, who could handle more than one woman at a time anyway?

**ooo000ooo**

"Daddy!!" his daughters came running to greet him as he entered the house.  He was buried in a mass of hugs and kisses, and had to work to keep the flowers he'd bought for Deborah from being mangled by the crush of little bodies.

"Are those for me?" asked Olivia, gap-toothed smile beaming.

"No, sweetie, those are for Mommy-"

"Mommy!!  Daddy got you flowers!!" his eldest daughter hollered, running down to the kitchen.

"Hello," Deborah greeted him absently as she scurried about the kitchen.  He cornered her long enough to give her a kiss before she turned to the oven and took something out that looked a little overdone.  "Dam- uh, darn," she muttered.  Then she noticed the flowers.  "Oh!  Ooh, pretty-" she sniffed the flowers and smiled at Rey, "... and tiger lilies, too, Rey-" she suddenly stopped and frowned at him slightly as she tried to salvage the roast.  "OK, what did you do?"

Rey shook his head, as always amused and dismayed at how easily Deborah could read him.  "Why do you assume I did something?"

"You hate tiger lilies, you call them weeds with freckles.  And you know I love them.  And it's Tuesday, so you've just been to confession."

"You wanna go work with Lennie and I'll stay home with the kids from now on?" Rey said ruefully.  "I guarantee his solve rate'll go way up."

"Spit it out."

Rey sighed, bracing slightly.  She wasn't gonna like this.  "You know the other day, when Sylvia and Burt were over and I told you I got a really important break in a case, and you had to entertain them all by yourself?"

"Yes..."

"I coulda come home.  It really wasn't that important," he admitted sheepishly.

"Then why didn't you?" her voice was clipped, stern, like it always was when she was angry but didn't want to lose her temper in front of the girls.

"Deborah, you know how I feel about Burt..."

Deborah's dark eyes snapped with anger.  "Yeah, and you know how I feel about Joey!  I don't bail out on you when you invite him over and he tells his stupid fart jokes and-" Olivia and Serena started to giggle at the 'f-word'.  Rey suppressed a chuckle.  It was never a good idea to laugh when Deborah was on a tear.

"Girls!  Downstairs!" she snapped.

"But Mommy-"

"Go on, go downstairs, listen to your mother," Rey shooed them down to their playroom in the basement.

"I'm sorry, hon," he said when they were safely out of the way.

"You should be.  I had to apologize to them and I didn't get a chance to talk to Sylvia and the girls were going nuts-"

"I know, I know," Rey hung his head.  "How can I make it up to you?"

"You can't.  You get to be around other adults.  I'm with the kids all day, I really look forward to being with other people who speak in complete sentences once in a while, you know?"  She stabbed the pot roast indignantly.

"Come on, Deborah," he protested, "you know, it's not like I avoided the dinner 'cause I was out drinking or cheating on you or spending all our money at the race track.  I told you I was at work, and I was."

"But you didn't have to be!"

"No.  And I am sorry.  How about you invite Sylvia out for a girls' night out or something and I'll take the kids for the evening?"

Deborah stirred a pot on the stove angrily.  "Fine," her voice was still resentful.

Judging that more conversation wasn't going to make her settle any time soon, he ventured, "Do you want me to call the girls upstairs and set the table?"

"Fine." Deborah could do simmering anger with the best of them, he reflected.

"Girls!"

The girls came trooping up, and Serena asked, all cute three-year-old seriousness, "Are you out of the doghouse now, Daddy?"

Rey and Deborah burst out laughing.  "What?  Where did you hear that?" Deborah asked.

"Tommy's mommy, 'member?" Deborah laughed, nodding, and kept stirring.

"Am I, Deborah?" Rey touched her shoulder as he passed by with the glasses.

"Hmm.  Let me stew a little longer," she said grumpily.

Rey drew close and nuzzled her, murmuring into her ear, "I really am sorry, hon."

"Yeah, well," Deborah leaned her head to the side, letting him nibble at her neck.

"Mm, I guess I'm forgiven?"

"We'll see after the girls are in bed."

"Mm, I am forgiven," he put the glasses down and put his arms around her, turning her so that she was facing him and continuing to kiss her neck.

"Who says you're gonna get anything out of it?  Maybe I'll be feeling selfish," she teased.  "It may take a while before you make up for ditching me."

"Ooh, you drive a hard bargain."

"I can tell.  Very hard," she whispered, looking down impishly.

"Deborah!" he choked, laughing and blushing a bit.  She smirked at him.  After six years of marriage and three children, she could still make a homicide detective blush.

"Still mad?"

"Yeah, but I'll get over it.  Go finish setting the table," she pushed him away gently.  He cleared his throat and adjusted himself slightly.

"Yes ma'am."

**ooo000ooo**

"I don't have any cash on me," Lennie realized as they pulled up to a drive-through on the way to the execution the next evening.

"No problem, I got it," Rey reached into his wallet, taking out a five and dislodging a receipt as he did so.  Lennie palmed the money and snagged the receipt as it floated down, then held it out to Rey.  He glanced at it and then looked closer, with the innate curiosity about minutiae that made him a good detective.

"15 receipt for flowers?  Whadja do?" he asked as he handed the money over to the cashier.

"Nothing," Rey said automatically.  Lennie gave him a look.  "Nothing, nothing, I was just in the doghouse with Deborah over that lead we were following the other day.  Remember I didn't go home 'cause I wanted to avoid her friends?"

"What, you told her?" Lennie handed Rey his coffee, donut, and change.

"Well, yeah."

"Honesty.  The best way to ruin a marriage," Lennie bit into his cruller.

"How would you know, Lennie?"

"So, what, did your priest say you had to tell her?"

"Yeah... I probably would've anyway though," Rey said absently, sipping his coffee.  Lennie shook his head.  He could never really understand Rey's sense of ethics.  It made for a somewhat prickly partnership sometimes, but he'd gotten used to it.  After several months of working together they'd settled into a good working relationship.  His partner was inexperienced, impetuous, self-righteous and rigid, but Lennie had also found that he was intelligent, dedicated, a quick learner, and not that bad to be around, once you realized that you couldn't take half of what he said personally.

"This the same priest who said you should go see the execution?"

"Yeah.  Father 'Anti-death penalty'."

Lennie smiled in bemusement.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just... you're normally a real stickler for going with the Church party line.  I'm just surprised that you disagree with your priest about this."

"The Church isn't against the death penalty.  Just a lot of the clergy are.  And he's just a priest, Lennie, he's not God.  He doesn't pretend to be.  He just felt I should go see for myself what it is I'm supporting.  I agreed."

**ooo000ooo**

It was almost midnight as they were ushered into the observation room.  There were Claire Kincaid and Jack McCoy.  Rey didn't have much use for McCoy - he'd found him to be a little fast-and-loose with his ethics, found he treated justice as a game.  But Claire Kincaid was a good person, very ethical, very committed, and easy to work with.  He'd heard she was here as a sort of protest though - she didn't agree with the death penalty.  Well, she and Lennie could keep each other company bemoaning the loss that the world would suffer from the death of this asshole.  He and McCoy were fine with the whole idea.

Mickey Scott.  Nobody deserved to be put to death more than this waste of skin.  Traffic accident turned into a vicious rape and murder.  Adele Saunders could've been anybody - could have been his wife, his sister, his daughters when they grew up.  She made a simple driving error and paid for it with her life, in agony.

And if he had his way, the thirty people who watched and did nothing would be joining Scott in that room right now.  He was just sorry that it looked like it was going to be a closed execution - that miserable bastard scared to see all these people waiting for him to die?

He could hear the conversation in the room.  Sounded like they were talking about Scott's last meal.  Man, what must it be like to eat and know it's the last thing you're ever gonna have?

"Now is not a good time to go crybaby Mickey," he heard somebody say in the room.

"Yeah, right, in your dreams," Scott replied.  Too bad.  For all the pain he'd caused, it would be nice if he could go out sniveling.

"You're sure about the priest?" somebody else's voice.  The Warden.  He'd introduced himself to the people in the observation room before going in to see Scott.

"I'm sure," Scott replied curtly.  Rey thought, oh, I guess he's going to Hell... but it wasn't like there was any doubt of that.  Not like you could really absolve what he did.

"How about the curtain?" asked the Warden.

"What about it?"

"It's your choice, Mr. Scott.  Open or closed?"

"What would you like?"

"Closed."  You just guaranteed that son-of-a-bitch will want it open, Rey thought.  Sure enough,

"Then open the sucker up."

"Fine."

The curtain opened and there he was.  Strapped down, barefoot, arms out.  Rey had a sudden image of Jesus on the cross.  He dismissed it with a humourless inward chuckle.  Probably the closest Mickey Scott ever came to Jesus in his life.

"Like damned fish in a barrel," Scott sneered, looking at them in the observation room.  Rey glanced at the back of Adele Saunders' parents' heads.  Nice.  An unpleasant piece of crap till the end.  What an asshole.  They deserved more than that from him.

"Want to say anything?" the Warden asked.

"Do it," Scott said, his voice tightly controlled.

No Sorry, no Forgive me, no nothing.  He was scared, though, judging from his tense expression and the clipped way he'd said that last.  Well he should be.  He wasn't far from Hell now.

Two men had entered the room, and now they walked to a wall and opened a panel.  They turned some dials.  What must that be like? Rey wondered. To know that your actions were about to cause the death of a human being?  Even one like Mickey Scott?

Rey took a deep breath, watching the two men who were killing another man do their job.  They closed the panel and left the room.  Rey watched as the line started to pump poison into Scott's body.  Watched as a green light, then a yellow light went on, then all of a sudden Scott's hand relaxed and the heart monitor flat-lined.

Shit.

He was dead.

One minute he was taking up space and air in a world not meant for monsters like him, and the next he was dead.

As a doornail.

Rey shivered, and was instantly puzzled.  What?  Where did that come from?  He'd dealt with death a lot in the last few years.  He could look at a brutal crime scene without flinching, discuss autopsies no problem, talk to grieving families... what was this?  Squeamishness?

Mickey Scott was dead.

And the curtain was being drawn on him.  Literally.  The observation room was once more closed off from the last place on Earth where Mickey Scott had breathed and lived.

Mickey.  Somebody once named him, somebody once nicknamed him, somebody somewhere must have cared about him at some point in his sorry existence.  And now that was over.

Lennie was getting up, a faintly disturbed look on his face, and Claire Kincaid had tears in her eyes.  Tears, for Mickey Scott?  McCoy looked a little stunned, just for a second, before he stood up and then bent down to say something to Claire.  The other witnesses were also starting to get up, get ready to go.  He stood too, and they filed out.  He was struck by the utter silence of the people coming out of the room.

**ooo000ooo**

Out in the hallway, leaving the execution, he couldn't shake the chill that was settling upon him.  He and Lennie checked out of the prison in silence, exchanging a few brief words with McCoy about one of the cases they were working on, McCoy's voice uncharacteristically subdued.

He got into the driver's side.  Lennie drove the last few hours here, so now it was his turn.  Sat thinking of nothing for a moment, then realized Lennie was already in the car and looking at him expectantly.  Right.

He pulled out of the prison parking lot and started the long drive back to New York, still thinking of nothing.  Drove for about half an hour before he realized that he and Lennie hadn't said anything.  Not that they spent all their time talking in the car.  As much time as they spent together, not even the most gossipy teenage girl could fill it up with talk.  But it was a little odd that they hadn't said a word.

"You OK?" he asked Lennie.

"Yeah," Lennie answered automatically.

More silence for the next little while.

"So...what did you think?" asked Lennie.  Rey shrugged.

"He's dead."

"Justice is served?"

"Guess so," he replied.  "One less repeat offender, anyway."

"Guess so," Lennie repeated quietly.

**ooo000ooo**

They arrived at the precinct in the morning and went to Lt. Van Buren's office.

"Aah, hell of a way to spend your day off," Lennie said, sitting down.

"He just twitched, closed his eyes... case closed," Rey told her.

"What did you expect, a dozen archangels strumming their harps?" Van Buren asked, smiling slightly.  She had declined to go with them, looking at them in puzzlement like she couldn't understand why they would even think of going.

"Well Mickey Scott's got nothing to do with angels," he said.  And he's not among them right now, he thought.  He didn't know what he'd expected.

"Who knows, maybe somebody, somewhere will learn something from this," Van Buren said skeptically.

"Yeah, the thirty friends and neighbours who cheered when he ripped off Adele Saunders' skirt," Rey replied, thinking of his earlier wish to have them all strapped down to a gurney too.

Lennie grimaced and stood up.  "Wanna go get some Chinese, Rey?  I guess executions make me hungry."

What a surprise.  Everything made Lennie hungry - he could put away more food than a football team.  Suddenly Rey didn't feel like eating with Lennie, didn't feel like being around people very much.  Didn't know what he felt like.

"Nah, actually I got some files I gotta finish up."  Work.  That should take his mind off of... what?  What was it he didn't want to think about?  He hadn't done much thinking during the long drive either.  What a strange feeling.

"Watch out Lieutenant, this kid's gunning for your job," Lennie told Van Buren as they left her office.

"Yeah, well, it doesn't get him any overtime," she joked.

They went into the squad room and Profaci started a round of applause.  Lennie didn't look too amused.

"So where you guys going to, Disneyland?" Profaci asked, full of high good humour as usual.

"Knock it off, Profaci," Lennie said curtly, and left.

"What's up with him?" Profaci asked, puzzled.

"He lost the lotto. He takes it personal," Rey replied, knowing that his partner had been somewhat more conflicted than he over the whole death penalty thing.  And if he was feeling a bit unsettled, it must be even worse for Lennie.  Not that he was feeling unsettled.  It was nothing.  He was fine.  He went to his desk, ignoring the chill that wouldn't go away.

"Beginning of a new era, huh Rey?"

"We're just lucky that Scott kept his lawyers out of it," he said, sitting down.  He was fine.  He still believed in the death penalty.  What happened this morning was right.

"So what's it like, man?" Profaci asked eagerly.

"What?"

"Does the guy turn green, does he lose control of his bodily functions, or what?"

"That would be cruel and unusual," he replied, feeling a little pissed off at Profaci too, for no good reason.  Profaci just seemed a little too... enthusiastic about the whole thing.  As he had been yesterday.

"Yeah - for the poor SOB who had to clean it up!" Profaci joked.

A little over an hour later, he was feeling a lot more normal.  Fine, as a matter of fact.  Bored, actually, and he was starting to think it was time to go home and maybe take Deborah and the girls to that bazaar at the church.  It was his day off, after all.  Why spend a beautiful early-summer day inside, working on papers that would still be here tomorrow, half-listening to some idiot mouthing of at Profaci - wait, what was that he said?  He turned around.

"What are you looking at?" asked the perp rudely.  He turned back around.  Asshole.   The guy continued to give Profaci a hard time as Rey tried to finish one last file before calling it a day.  Van Buren stepped out of her office and called Profaci over, and he looked at the perp.  No point having the guy sit there handcuffed to a chair while Profaci was talking to Van Buren, he'd probably start mouthing off at him next and then he'd never finish his file.

"I'll take him," he offered, taking the handcuff keys from Profaci.  "Come on, we're going for a walk."

"Easy, dude!" said the little weasel as he hauled him up.

"That's Detective Dude," Rey muttered.  Jerk.

"Yeah, well, nice threads for a cop.  Oh I get it, you're on the under-the-table plan."

Rey tossed him into the holding cell.  Impertinent asshole.  Just like Scott when they arrested him.  Suddenly sick of these idiots he rubbed elbows with every day, Rey felt a surge of irritation and pushed the miserable shit against the wall of the holding cell.

"Gonna shut your face or what?" he started to undo the handcuffs.

"Heh heh, sounds like I hit a sore spot, what is it, kickbacks from dealers?  Hookers?  Uh? What?"  As if.  These lowlife dregs figured everybody was just as dirty as them.  Rey slammed him against the holding cell chain links, a little harder this time.  "Hey man that hurts!" he whined.  Good.

"I told you to shut up!" Rey reminded him, working on the other cuff.

"Hey, it's not my problem you got extra-curricular activities!  So Officer Krupcke, what's it gonna cost to get my butt outta here?"  Christ, they never shut up, do they?  Rey thought, fury rising up unexpectedly.  He snapped.

"You gonna keep spouting off like that?" he grabbed the guy's collar, getting into his face.  "I tell you to shut up, you shut up or I'm gonna rip that tongue outta your throat!!"

"Detective!" he vaguely heard Van Buren's sharp voice through his anger, but he was too pissed off to care or stop.  He stayed where he was, in the guy's face, feeling the rage pouring out, seeing a flicker of fear in his belligerent beady eyes, wishing Mickey Scott had been at least this scared when they killed him.

"You gonna shut up?  Shut up!!"  Then Profaci was there, yelling at him and pulling him off the ugly toad, propelling him out of the holding cell.

"He's guilty of using a slug on the subway!" Profaci yelled at him angrily, and immediately turned to the little twerp before he could draw a breath, "Shut up!"

Van Buren was glaring at him, seriously irate.  "Today's your day off, Detective Curtis.  Take it!!"

**ooo000ooo**

OK.  OK.  Go home, take the kids out to the bazaar when they came back from swimming.

No.  All of a sudden he had an image of his kids, and Deborah who would probably be a bit ticked at him for not coming home right away after the execution - she always hated it when he worked extra - and Olivia who was going through an overly chatty phase, and Isabel who seemed eager to get to the terrible twos, and his sudden unexpected and uncontrollable anger at that little weasel in the squad room... and he realized he'd better cool off before going home.  No point taking out this whatever-it-was on his family.

Central Park.  It was a nice day, he'd go to Central Park and maybe walk around a bit, read the paper, then go home.  The bazaar was going on all day anyway.

OK.  He turned off his cell phone - what's the point of a break if people can still reach you? - and headed off.

**ooo000ooo**

A while later, he was finishing his paper in Central Park.  Doing pretty good.  He put the paper down.  He should go home, he thought, but he was somewhat reluctant to do so.  It was nice out here, sunshine, people skating by, pretty girls, nice trees... he didn't really take much time to stop and enjoy the scenery these days.  Not that he really needed to, he wasn't stressed or anything, life was good, it was just... sometimes you really need to take some time to just be.

"You reading that?" some young woman was pointing at his paper.

"Oh no, help yourself," he replied.  He was done.  Only thing he hadn't read was the food section.

"You believe Dole?" she asked, glancing at the front page and sitting down beside him.  "Older than my grandfather."

"Oh I love him."

"You're kidding."

"Guarantees four more years of Clinton," he smiled at her.  It was a little unusual for anybody, especially a good-looking young woman, to just come up and start talking to a stranger in New York.

"That's gotta be an endangered species... Democrat on Wall Street," she said, looking him over humorously.

"What makes you think I'm Wall Street?"

"Look in the mirror, sweetie," she smiled at him.  Oh really.  He smiled back, inwardly amused.  Wall Street.  Second time today somebody had commented on his clothes.  First he's on the take, now he's Wall Street.  Maybe he should dress like Lennie, nobody would mistake him for anything but an honest cop then.  He mentally shuddered, thinking of himself in Lennie's wardrobe, especially his casual attire.

"You're pretty smart for, what, a sophomore?" he teased the girl, playing along.  Nice to be around somebody who didn't know what he did for a living.  Especially today.  He quickly dismissed that thought.

"Excuse me. Grad student," she said, playing offended but mostly amused.

"Oh, I'm sorry, OK," he grinned.  He thought for a moment.  "Actually, I'm just jealous.  I used to love school," he told her, smiling in nostalgia.

"Right," she was skeptical.  "Cramming for finals, 48 hours without sleep, lunatic professors preaching about god knows what..."

Rey shook his head, "Best time of my life."  Sounded like such bliss.  The girl was lucky, and she didn't know it.  He remembered student life - no kids, no wife that he was rapidly beginning to realize was going to have a better and better reason to be annoyed with him for not coming home right away... no belligerent little mouthy creeps or executions...

"What happened, bear market go to hell today?" the girl broke into his brief reverie.

"Something like that," he told her.  No, I watched a guy die today and I think I'm a little freaked out by it, he thought.  How would that play as a conversation stopper?  She looked at him speculatively.

"Tell you what I'm gonna do, Wall Street.  I'm gonna let you take me to lunch.  One-time offer."

He looked at her.  Oh.  Looked at her closely for the first time, noticing that she was quite pretty.  And friendly.  And flirting with him.  He'd noticed the flirting part right away, but it hadn't really registered until now.  And she was waiting for his answer.

"Going, going..." she teased.  He hesitated.  He really should go home.  But... what was the harm in going to lunch?  With a person who didn't know him, wouldn't ask about the execution, wouldn't make jokes about it that rubbed him the wrong way or ask about things that he didn't want to examine or harangue him and ask why he hadn't come home a few hours ago or...

"Sure," he replied.

"You like Italian?" she asked, smiling at him.  They headed off.

**ooo000ooo**

**Author's Note:** If anybody wants the actual script for Aftershock, e-mail me at

ciroccoj2002 at yahoo dot com


	2. Aftershock

**CHAPTER 2: AFTERSHOCK**

"I shouldn't have eaten that calamari," he said later, as he and the young woman - JC, short for Jamie Christine - browsed through a bin of CDs at a sidewalk sale.  Lunch had been good; the food excellent though a bit heavy, the service prompt, the conversation relaxing and interesting.  JC reminded him of a friend from his undergrad days.  Nice girl, slightly quirky sense of humour, always surprising him with her little observations and comments.  Now they were looking through CDs, at one of two places JC had mentioned were having early-summer sales.

"Aah, hot sauce'll put hair on your chest.  Do you like Escape?" she asked.

"Yeah, they're pretty good.  Now Oasis, that's the ticket," he found a CD Deborah had bought him a few months ago.

"All right.  Not that you need hair on your chest," she said lightly.  He looked at her and smiled.  Little bit of flirting, no big deal.  His friend from college had been the same way, although they'd never actually gone out since any time one of them was single the other wasn't.  And then he'd met Deborah.  "I'm in the mood for retro," JC said, and moved to the other set of bins.

"Oh, like Big Brother?" he asked, following her.

"You're kidding!  My favourite!"

"'Take another little piece of my heart, now, baby...'" Rey sang a line, and JC laughed appreciatively.

"Hey, Rey!  Just a bundle of surprises!"

"Well you know I wanted to be the Boss, but I wasn't from Jersey and I couldn't carry a tune," he said, knowing he could actually carry a tune well enough... for one line at least.

"Still cute," JC said, smiling.  Rey looked at her.  This was getting a little... he was starting to feel uneasy.  Like he was doing something wrong.  Maybe not towards Deborah, because he knew he wouldn't actually cheat on her... but he shouldn't lead this girl on.  Especially since he was also starting to really notice just how attractive she was.  Better just make sure they were both on the same page.

"... and married," he said, not knowing what she would say.  Not knowing what he wanted her to say.

"So?" she smiled at him.  Hard to tell how to take that.  'So', as in, so what, we're just looking at CD's, buddy, I'm not gonna jump you?  Or 'so', as in, so who cares if you're married, I'm just gonna jump you and go on with my day?

"Come on, help me find something really special," she said, with that friendly smile he was starting to really like.  Maybe a little too much.

Relax, he thought to himself, we're just looking at CD's.  This is not forbidden, this is not wrong, this is just a nice young woman who's interesting and, yes, easy on the eyes, and who isn't going to make you think of disgusting murderer-rapists being poisoned and sent to Hell right in front of you.

**ooo000ooo**

As they arrived at the other sale, Rey excused himself to go to the washroom and took the opportunity to call Deborah.  He'd called before lunch, but she hadn't been home so he'd just left a brief message saying he'd be home later.

OK, what to say.  How to explain his strange reluctance to go home.  Hi, honey, I'm stuck doing paperwork.  Hi honey, we caught a case.  No, those were both lies.  He'd have to tell her the truth eventually, and she'd be pretty rightfully pissed if he lied to her that blatantly when he was just going to a music store... with another woman.

He settled on a 'Catholic evasion' as he and his buddies used to call them in parochial school - the truth, and nothing but the truth, but not necessarily the whole truth.

"Where the hell have you been?  I've been trying to reach you but your cell phone's off.  Your lieutenant said you left work hours ago."

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry.  I know I said I'd be home today... would you mind a lot if I skipped the church bazaar?" he asked, hoping she'd just leave it at that but knowing she wouldn't.

"What?  How come?  Hang on," she broke off, hollering off the phone, "I'm on the PHONE, Olivia!  No yelling while Mommy's on the phone!!" She came back.  "What's wrong, hon?"

"Nothing, nothing..." he didn't have the slightest clue what to say.  He wasn't very good on the phone anyway, not with Deborah.  They weren't terribly verbal people, more used to straightforward facts and physical communication than awkward exploration of vague feelings.  Damn.  "I just don't think I'd be much fun today."

"OK," she accepted easily enough.  "Something happen?"

Yeah, something happened, he wanted to shout at her, I watched somebody get poisoned and die, OK?  How could you forget your own husband was going to watch an execution?!  Then he immediately wondered at that.  Where did that surge of anger come from?  Pretty good thing he wasn't going home.  Of course Deborah didn't remember, he hadn't made a big deal out of it, just mentioned it in passing and she hadn't given it much thought because he hadn't given it much thought either.

He probably should go see Father Morelli.

Later.

"Rey?" she was speaking, and he'd missed a bit of what she said.  "What are you going to do?"

"Music store... maybe go see Father Morelli later."

"Rey, what's wrong?"

"I... I don't really wanna talk about it.  We'll talk tonight, OK?"

She was silent, that special Deborah 'I'm waiting...' silence.

"OK, OK.  You know I saw the execution this morning," she made an acknowledging sound.  "It just... it's sticking with me more than I thought, that's all.  I'm kinda, I dunno, unsettled.  I'll be home tonight... maybe then you can, uh, settle me," he said with a grin.

"Oh, hon, it's a 'restraint' night," she informed him absently, "No, no, Serena, put that down," she said off-phone.

"Oh.  Damn," he said, mildly disappointed.  So much for that avenue of comfort.

He could almost feel her smile through the phone line.  "We'll think of something though."  He felt a flicker of arousal.  Sometimes the nights when they weren't supposed to actually have sex weren't all that... restrained.  Deborah could be quite... imaginative sometimes.  And enthusiastic.  And there was this thing she did with - he headed off that thought before it got too far and cleared his throat.

"Oh, we will, will we?" he asked, smiling.

She chuckled suggestively.  "Maybe," she teased, then went back to her regular tone. "OK, you do what you have to, come home whenever.  I'll take the girls out.  Hope you're feeling better later.  Love you."

"OK," he said, "Love you."

Conscience somewhat cleared, he rejoined JC at the bins.  He'd tell Deborah later that he'd been at the store with another woman.  It was just looking at CDs.  Nothing major.  Feeling a little off, meet a stranger, have lunch, browse through some CDs, go see your priest.  Nothing to feel guilty about.

**ooo000ooo**

Back at her place, he looked at her bookshelves as she put one of her new CD's in the stereo.

"Finnegan's Wake? The Fairie Queen?  I'm impressed," he said, once again asking himself why he was here.  It had seemed innocent enough, after he'd helped her choose a couple of CD's and they'd wandered over to the electronics section.  As they browsed, she told him she'd just bought a new stereo.  One that he was thinking of buying, as a matter of fact.  Wouldn't he like to see it, see if the sound quality was as good as he'd been told?  He'd been momentarily impressed that she even knew the make and model of her stereo, since most women he knew weren't interested in technical details like that.  And he'd agreed, and now here he was.  In her apartment.

"Impressive things don't impress me," JC said.

"And Moby Dick."

"Love story: man meets whale, man loses whale, blah blah blah." He chuckled.  Definitely quirky.

"I never actually thought anybody read Henry James," he picked up a book.

"Bedtime reading: two pages, you're out like a light," she dismissed James conclusively.

"Maybe I missed something," he said, putting it back.

"Come on," JC said, the music playing softly in the background.  She said something about 'number crunchers like him' that he didn't quite catch because she was coming towards him with a definitely interested look, and it looked like they were going to slow dance.  And he was suddenly very much aware that this was getting out of hand, that he was letting this go too far... Maybe not, though.  So she wanted to dance.  He'd danced with other women before, with Deborah's full knowledge and consent, and she'd danced with other men and he certainly didn't mind.  It didn't have to mean anything, it didn't have to lead anywhere.

But would he feel comfortable telling Deborah about this later?  When he told her how he spent his day?  When he knew that she probably thought he had spent it thinking, or taking a long walk, or maybe catching a matinee, or in church?

No, he wouldn't.

JC came closer, drew his hand to her waist, and he wondered if this was crossing some kind of line.  He took her hand in his, listening to the music, wondering what he was doing here.  Wondering if he'd crossed the line when she first invited him to lunch.  Realizing that he didn't want to uncross it, not right now - they were just dancing.  He wasn't being unfaithful.  And she was warm, full of life, pretty, friendly, very different from the cold unpleasant death he'd seen this morning.  The chill he'd felt was slowly fading.  He was OK with the execution.  He'd be OK tonight with Deborah - he was just going to dance with this girl, he wasn't going to do anything else.

She put her hand on the back of his neck and he shivered a little, feeling a little uncomfortable but also a little... breathless.  She was a good dancer.  Not that you could really tell with slow dances, since it was hard to get a slow dance wrong, but she moved with the music - nice music, too, nice sound quality on that stereo - and she fit into his arms perfectly, and she was nestling into the side of his neck in a way that Deborah couldn't, since Deborah was a little too short.

He deliberately closed off his thoughts of Deborah.

**ooo000ooo**

Dancing together, then chatting casually, talking about electronics, professors, current events, no thoughts of anything but the moment.  This was very nice.  Reminded him of college, before responsibility and commitment.

"You ever take the tie off, Wall Street?" she teased, tugging at his tie as they danced again.  He grinned at her and she started to loosen it.  Nice girl.  Beautiful eyes, and her body felt so right against his.  Some kind of floral perfume, not too heavy.  He'd always hated overpowering perfume when he was dating in college.  This was just right.  This was very nice.

This was getting a little too nice, his body was starting to tell him.

He helped her take off the tie, and she tossed it onto the couch.  He took a deep breath and decided enough was enough.  He couldn't let his mind go on vacation forever.  Time to think for a minute.

Think about the fact that if he was going to leave, he would have to leave soon.  That he was going to be confessing a hell of a lot, and have a hell of a lot of explaining to do to Deborah.  Maybe not about what he was doing, but why he was doing it and how he was feeling about it.

Think about the fact that he didn't want to leave, didn't want to think about it, and didn't want to do anything other than take this wherever it was supposed to go, see what happened.

Think about the fact that he was alive.  Turned on.  Not like Mickey Scott.  Not dead and buried and good riddance, but alive and feeling his body responding to this woman.

Alive and turned on and, for the moment, not exploring how he felt about the execution.  Not being cheerful with his daughters, who couldn't possibly understand about rapists and murderers and death.  Not trying to explain how he felt to Deborah, or worse, _not_ explain how he felt to Deborah.  Deborah, who also believed that murderers deserved to die and who would either not say anything, not realizing anything needed to be said, or make the kinds of comments the other cops at the precinct had made.  The kind of comments he himself had made before this morning, laughing it off, piece of crap killed off and good riddance, so what.  Only it would hurt a lot coming from her, it would scrape against the raw spot in his psyche he'd been feeling since this morning.

Think about the other option, the other thing he could and should be doing right now, that he wasn't doing.  He could be talking to Father Morelli, could be getting a self-satisfied priestly 'I told you so' or maybe a disappointed 'How can you feel like this and still believe that Mickey Scott's death was justified?'

He could be exploring the other thing he really, really didn't want to explore, the fact that if Mickey Scott was dead, at least part of the reason was because of him.  He'd helped put that needle in his arm.  That twitch in his limbs, that long beep and flat line on the heart monitor.  He believed life was sacred, he believed it wholeheartedly as a cop and as a Catholic and as a human being... and yet this morning he had helped to end a human life.  To kill a human being.

He didn't want to even think about that.  He didn't want to be at home, he didn't want to be in church.  He didn't want to be Detective Reynaldo Curtis, husband, father, practicing Catholic, not right now.  Normally, yes, he did, he was happy with his life, but today all of those things were not what he wanted.  Today all of those things felt uncomfortable, even painful.

And here, in this apartment, he didn't have to be any of those things.  JC didn't even know he was a cop.  JC didn't know anything about him, and didn't want to.  There was only one thing JC wanted from him.  Only one thing he wanted from her.

The song ended and JC let go of him, stepped back.  They looked at each other for a long moment.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asked him.

"Sure," he answered, hearing his voice very low, very quiet... the way Deborah teased him it always got when he was very aroused.

"Wine?"

"Sure," he answered again, and she gestured to her couch.  He sat and watched as she reached back and undid her hair clip, his heart inexplicably skipping a beat at the sight of her long hair loosened and spilling down over her shoulder.  She went into her tiny kitchen and poured some wine for them both, and brought their glasses into the living room.

"Thanks," he took his glass from her.

"My casa is your casa," JC sat down.

"So you do this all the time?" he asked, finally acknowledging where this was going.  Where JC had known it was going all along.  Where, if he was honest with himself, he'd known it was going all along too.  He could feel his body simultaneously relaxing in the knowledge that he knew pretty much what was going to happen and was OK with it, and tightening with anticipation.  He tasted the wine.  Sweet, nicely chilled.

"Usually I drink vodka," JC said, clearly not wanting to talk about it.

"You know what I mean," he pressed slightly, wondering why she was doing this.  What she was getting out of it?  Was she getting over a lost relationship?  Needing her ego salved from a rejection?  Dealing with the stress of a dissertation?  A difficult thesis supervisor?  Or was this just what she did for fun, no other reason or motive behind it?

"You're my fourth guy today," she answered, obviously not willing to go there.  Fine.  There were places he didn't want to go either.  They put their glasses down, and she moved closer to him on the couch.

"You gonna kiss me or what?" JC asked.  She drew closer, bit by bit, and the part of his mind that knew he should move away didn't make a sound.  This had gone too far to back out now.  And he didn't want to back out.  The last of his hesitation vanished as her lips parted, and then so did his, and their mouths met in a gentle open kiss.  Then he was breathing in, feeling her warmth, her lips, her tongue, her body, feeling a surge of passion taking over him, knowing that there was no decision to be made.  He'd decided way back in the Park.  He pulled her closer, drawing nearer to her, hands sliding around her waist, up her back, her hands sliding around him too.  Welcoming the pull of desire, the mindlessness of sex.  The exact, blessed opposite of introspection and death.

**ooo000ooo**

Everything was so easy after that, although he hadn't been with another woman since he'd first started dating Deborah.  You'd think he would have forgotten the etiquette of a first-time sexual encounter, the exciting awkwardness of being with somebody whose favourite spots and turn-ons you didn't know, who didn't know yours.  But his body remembered.  And she was apparently no stranger to one-night stands.  She was experienced, direct, passionate... incredibly erotic.  He was completely lost for hours.

The lovely slow soft early caresses and gradually more passionate embraces and increasingly urgent movements had given way to post-coital lassitude and languidness.  They had relaxed together, chatting about nothing, and slowly gone back to playful teasing, and back to caresses, and urgency and now back to relaxation.  Twice in one day was plenty, he wasn't eighteen any more, and he doubted she wanted much more from him either.

He shifted so that he wasn't resting all of his weight on her, and she smiled at him and stretched a bit.  She traced the line of his jaw absently and he cupped her breast, following the graceful line of her body with his eyes and appreciating her slim waist.  The shadows from her bedroom window were playing along the side of her body as she shifted to her side.  He glanced out her window and saw that it was already near sunset.  She moved and their legs became entwined, her long pale limbs contrasting against his dark skin.  That was a sight he hadn't seen since... Marcy, the last white girl he'd dated before Deborah.  Also tall.  Eight... nine years ago?

Wait.  Shadows from the window?  What time was it?

Seven o'clock.  Deborah would be wondering where he was.

What was he going to tell her?

Oh my god.  What was he going to tell her?

What had he done?

Oh God.  What the hell had he done?

He had a sudden vivid image of Deborah.  And Olivia.  And Serena.  And Isabel.

He pushed those images out of his mind and raised himself on one elbow, looking down at JC and clearing his throat.

"JC, sorry, I didn't realize how late it was."

"Mm, yeah," she said, glancing at the clock.  "Want some dinner?"

"Actually, I have to get going," he said apologetically.

"So soon?" she teased.  He looked at her, not sure whether she was serious.  That was the thrill and the nuisance of being with somebody new; they could surprise you in ways you couldn't foresee, but they also confused the hell out of you because you just didn't know them.  This was why he hadn't missed single life more than once or twice a year since he'd met Deborah - because he liked predictability, at least as much as he got with Deborah.  Deborah wasn't terribly predictable, but she was familiar enough that he didn't always have to wonder what she was gonna think or feel or do about any given situation.  Although he didn't have a clue how she would react to this.

"JC, I really-"

"Yeah, I know, Wall Street, duty calls," she patted his hand, a little disappointed but not making a big fuss.  "You go back to wifey and I'll go back to Henry James," she smiled.  Something in his eyes must have twigged her or something because she suddenly raised her eyebrows.  "You OK?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, shrugging off his growing dread.  He sat up and started to look for his clothes.

**ooo000ooo**

Once out of JC's apartment, he took out his cell phone and stared at it.  What the hell was he going to say to Deborah?  Hi hon, went to the gym and forgot the time.  No, that was stupid.  Nobody forgets the time at the gym for the entire day.  Hi hon, went to church and got caught up with Father Morelli.  No, she'd been planning on going to the bazaar and Morelli might have been there for some of it.  He might get that alibi wrong if she asked at what time he met with Morelli.

Alibi.  It wasn't a question of a Catholic evasion any more.  There was nothing he could say to cover this that would be as bad as what he was covering.

Hi hon, I went to Lennie's place to talk to him about the execution, and lost track of the time.  Yeah, he was upset about it.

No.  She knew Lennie, had his phone number, had probably already called him to figure out where he was.

Kincaid.  No, he wasn't going to cover being with one woman by saying that he was with another woman, no matter that he had no interest in Kincaid and she was taken anyway.

McCoy.  Hi hon, I went to Jack McCoy's office, talked about the execution, ended up talking about an ongoing case.

OK.

He steadied himself and before he could think too much about what he was about to do, he called home.  Seven o'clock.  The kids would be done dinner, winding down at the end of the day.

"Curtis residence."

"Hi hon-"

"Rey!  Where the hell - Isabel!  Put that down!!  Hang on, hon," Rey winced as his ear was assaulted by a loud noise - Deborah putting the phone on the counter in order to grab the baby.  There was a bit of yelling on the other end, and Rey waited patiently for Deborah to get the situation under control at home.  He heard another adult voice and laughter, then Deborah's breathless voice on the other end.  "Sorry about that," she chuckled, "Yeah, yeah, third drawer," she said off-phone, then back to him, "Isabel got into the chocolate chips.  Luisa came to dinner with her kids, so she's got Isabel for now," Deborah said something else to Luisa, then came back to him.  "So where have you been all day?" she sounded irritated but not angry.

"I'm sorry, hon," he said apologetically, "I should've called."

"Yeah, you should have.  Or at least left your phone on, for heaven's sake.  I was starting to get worried.  Are you OK?"  Oh, god, she was irate because she was worried about him.  Jesus.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, feeling a pang of guilt as he lied.  Here goes.  "I went to see McCoy, you know, the prosecutor?" she mhhmm'd at him.  "He was there too this morning.  We talked about it and then we ended up going over a case we're working on.  I'm sorry, I lost track of the time."

"That's gotta be a first for you," she teased him.  "Are you OK, hon?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he lied again, feeling a knife twisting in his gut.  I'm fine, I just slept with another woman for no good reason at all and now I'm lying to you and you don't even have the decency to give me an excuse like 'I had to sleep with another woman because my wife is a bitch' or 'because my wife doesn't love me any more' or 'because my wife is over-controlling and I need my freedom' or anything.

"I'm fine.  I'll be home in a bit."

"Hon, you don't sound fine," Deborah said, a little perturbed.  "Are you sure you wanna come home?  The kids are a little wired," he could hear them shrieking in the background.  "You know what?  If you come home right now they're just gonna get more hyper and want to play with you and not want to go to bed.  How about you go to the gym or something, come home after their bedtime?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure."

"I hate to stick you with them all day when it was supposed to be my day off," he said slowly.

"Well it's a little too late to do anything about that now," she said a little waspishly, "It's almost bedtime anyway."

"I'm sorry..."

"No, no, I told you to take as much time as you needed," she reminded him, waspish tone gone, "and we had a good day at the bazaar anyway.  Here, say good night to them and go to the gym.  Just leave your cell phone on this time, OK?"

"OK."

"Daddy?" his five year old, Olivia, had the phone.  "Daddy, we went to the bazaar and Tommy was there and you know what the best part was?  There was cotton candy!"

"Yeah?  What colour?"

"Blue and pink and green and purple!  And Mary was there and she had a Pocahontas t-shirt, can I get one too?"

"What did Mommy say?"  Deborah had mixed emotions about Pocahontas.

"She said if you said it was OK then maybe I could oh Serena wants the phone night night Daddy love you," Olivia was gone before he could answer, and another little voice was on the other end of the line.

"Daddy?" There was Serena, his three year old.  "Daddy I told Olivia that I needed the phone," Serena said cheerfully, "'cause I missed you today and it was fun going to the b'zaar but I wish you came with us too."

He closed his eyes in sudden pain.  He should have been there.  His family had been at church, his girls playing with other kids and eating cotton candy, and he'd been with some grad student who didn't even know his last name and thought he worked on Wall Street.  He brought himself back to Serena's happy voice.

"And Mommy was wearing that dress you got her, 'member the one with the flowers?  I wanna dress like that too, Daddy.  An' I won't do cartwheels and show my undies," she assured him seriously, and he chuckled despite the growing pain in his chest.  His middle daughter was a bit of a tomboy, and Deborah usually kept her in sturdy, sensible clothes because she ruined anything else.  Deborah, a former tomboy herself, somehow didn't relate to Serena as well as he did - probably because Serena liked a lot the same things he did, like computers and basketball, and thought police work, what little he told her of it, was 'cool'.

"OK, we'll talk to Mommy about that tomorrow, Bunny," he told her.  "Maybe we can take you out to get a pretty dress.  But you have to promise, no cartwheels."

"OK bye bye Daddy.  See you tomorrow.  Love you," she ran off too.

"OK, here's Isabel," Deborah told him.  Silence on the other end of the line.  Isabel, not yet two, didn't quite get phones yet.

"Sweetie, it's Daddy.  Time to say night night, Isabel.  Have a good night, and I'll see you in the morning when you wake up.  Love you."

"Luhvoo," she lisped back, and then Deborah was on the line again.

"OK, well, give me a call when you're coming home, hon. Love you."

"I love you," he said, and stared at the phone in his hand after she hung up.

He'd never felt so lost in his life.

What should he do now?  Go to the gym?  Go for a walk?

Go back upstairs to JC's apartment?

No, definitely not that last one.  But he was at a loss.  What do people do when they've just betrayed their loved ones?  When they've just betrayed everything they believe in?  Where do they go?

Lennie would know, he thought bitterly.  Lennie knew all about lying to wives, breaking marriage vows.  Lennie was real familiar with all of that, and it didn't seem to bother him at all.  Lennie... Lennie would probably be able to help, now that he thought about it.  Lennie would probably understand how he felt right now, even though he didn't understand it himself.  He'd been at the execution too this morning.  He wouldn't make any of the comments he'd run away from, run to JC to avoid.  Lennie might even be able to help him figure out what in God's name he was going to do now.

**ooo000ooo**

At last.  Lennie's place.  He knocked on Lennie's door, leaning against the door frame, feeling hollow.  Getting here had been a bit of a nightmare, as he tried to keep a hold of himself and minimize what he was feeling, while inside emotions he didn't even know how to identify grew and jumbled and threatened to overwhelm him.

Please, Lennie, please open up.  Knocked again.  Please be home.

The door next to Lennie's opened up and an elderly woman in a bathrobe and rollers in her hair peeked out.

"I don't think he's home.  Haven't seen him all day."  Rey's heart sank.  Shit and double shit.  What was he supposed to do now?

"Oh, OK, thanks."

"You're Leonard's partner, aren't you?" the old woman asked, peering up at him.

"Yes ma'am," he replied automatically.

"Thought so.  Saw you both on the news.  Good job!"   What news?  Oh right.  The execution.  He nodded thanks, wishing he hadn't gone to Attica, wishing he'd never heard of Mickey Scott, wishing the world would let him forget that name, forget this whole day.  Wishing there was a rewind button on life and he could just rewind all the way to yesterday morning, only this time stay in bed with Deborah and just take the day off.

"I just thank the Lord for boys like you and Leonard," she told him earnestly.

Boys like me and Leonard.  He felt like he'd been punched in the gut.  He nodded politely to her and started down the stairs.

Thank God for boys like me and Leonard.  Yeah.  Thank God for us.  Thank God for what, adulterers?  Thank God for selfish bastards who run out on their wives and children, too stupid to deal with life the way a responsible adult should, too goddamn self-centered to remember their vows when a pretty face comes along and promises a no-strings attached way to forget an unpleasant incident?  Thank God for jerks who do their thinking with their dicks instead of their brains?

At least Lennie admitted he was no better than the lowlifes they dealt with.  He'd been so contemptuous of him, of all of them, knowing he'd never stray, never fall off the straight and narrow, never do anything he'd regret with his whole being like he regretted what he had done today.  And now, here he was, no better than any of them, certainly no better than Lennie, needing Lennie to help him deal with this because he didn't know how to deal with it himself.

He needed to do something.

He went into a coffee shop and ordered a coffee.  Sat for a long time, thinking.  No idea what to do, but his mind was logical and orderly and even in the midst of confusion and growing guilt it didn't stop figuring out practical ways of dealing with the situation.

OK.  What he needed was to go back to his family.  What he needed was to own up to what he'd done.  Tell Deborah.  Try to explain it to her and deal with what happened from there.  Be a man.

He shivered.  He felt... he felt fear.  He wasn't used to that.  He was used to the adrenaline rush of dealing with violent criminals, he was used to the slight nervousness of telling Deborah he'd screwed up in some minor way and knowing he was in for what he now realized was a pretty minor tongue-lashing... but he wasn't used to this feeling.  Fear.  The abject fear of losing everything that meant anything to him.  What the hell would Deborah do?  How would their marriage survive and be anything like what it had been this morning?

Be a man.  You don't know what's going to happen, but you've faced difficult and even dangerous situations before and you've been OK.  Take responsibility for your actions, however stupid they may have been.

Feeling fearful but resolute, he paid for his coffee and started to head home.

**ooo000ooo**

**Author's Note:** the grad student is not named in Aftershock, but she is referred to as "Jamie" in the TV credits.  I originally wrote this with the name Jamie, but kept being reminded of Jamie Ross as I edited, so I've changed her name to JC.


	3. Accident

**CHAPTER 3: ACCIDENT**

"Yes, yes, I'll call him right now, he should be home any - oh!" Deborah was holding the phone when Rey stepped through his front door. "Rey!" she called him urgently. He approached quickly. "It's Lennie. He's been in an accident. He's OK-" she assured him, putting her hand on his, "but he's at St. Vincent's. I told him I would send you over there right away," she handed him the phone.

"Lennie?" he took the phone, struggling to shift mental gears.

It was just past midnight. He had left the coffee shop around 9:30 and decided to take a walk where he and Deborah first met, indulging in nostalgia and gathering his strength, knowing Deborah would be up until late anyway - they were both night owls. Then he'd forced himself to go home, knowing he'd put it off long enough, prepared to face her and face the consequences of his actions. And now here he was, and here she was, but it looked like he wasn't going to be able to talk to her any time soon.

"Hey, Rey... lissen, I needja ta get over here, and I needja ta call McCoy," Lennie's voice came over the line. Rey felt a pang of alarm. Lennie had either been hurt, gotten a concussion or something, or he was... he was drunk.

"Lennie, what happened?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I walked away withou' a scratch," Lennie's voice slurred, "but Claire, she was drivin' me home an' she's not doin' so good, she might not make it. An' I dunno McCoy's number."

"OK, I'll be right there," Rey assured him. "And I'll call McCoy. Hang tight," he hung up, mind racing.

"Rey, was he... he sounded drunk," Deborah said worriedly.

"Yeah, I know," Rey muttered distractedly. "I have to call McCoy and get to St. Vincent's-"

"Was he driving?"

"No, Claire Kincaid was. She's hurt - I have to call McCoy," he went past Deborah into the kitchen, taking out his address book. Of course McCoy was unlisted, but he and Lennie had had to get a hold of him outside of office hours a few times, so he'd given them his number. Deborah drew closer as he rifled through, trying to find it.

"Rey, was he drunk?"

"I don't know," he muttered, finding the phone number. Feeling he didn't know what - worried about Lennie? Claire Kincaid? Part of him relieved that, as horrible as this was, at least he didn't have to face Deborah right now? He put that thought out of his mind immediately. A person he worked with, a person he respected and liked, was hurt and could very well be dying or dead and he had absolutely no right to feel the slightest sense of reprieve. He listened to the ringing at the other end of the line. Nothing. Answering machine. Damn.

"You've reached Jack McCoy. Leave your message after the tone."

"McCoy, this is Rey Curtis. I just got a call from Lennie Briscoe. He and Claire were in a car accident. They're at St. Vincent's. Give me a call at 555-0957 as soon as you get this message, I'll fill you in on what I know."

He put down the phone. Deborah was still right there, looking at him worriedly. "Is Lennie OK?" she asked, concerned.

"Yeah, he said he walked off without a scratch."

"Then he doesn't have a concussion or anything."

"No, I guess not," he started to get ready to go again, not wanting to talk to Deborah right now. Too much going on.

"Rey, he sounded like he was drunk," she repeated.

"I know that, I heard that too," he replied, a little more sharply than he meant to. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"He's not supposed to drink at all, Rey. What's he doing?"

"We don't know he was drinking," he protested. Her eyebrows went up even higher.

"Are you kidding?" she paused. "If he's drinking, I don't want you partnered with him. He can't watch your back if he's fallen off the wagon."

"Deborah, we can't talk about this right now. I have to go to the hospital. I'll call you when I know more, OK?" he gave her a quick kiss and left, hurrying to St. Vincent's.

**ooo000ooo**

"Lennie!" he spotted Lennie in the emergency room, looking disheveled and confused. "What happened?"

"Hey, Rey, they won't tell me anything. They just said wait'n see, so I been waitin' 'n seein'," he words were still slightly slurred. Rey looked at him, concerned.

"Lennie..."

"Yeah, yeah. I was drinkin'." Lennie sat down heavily at one of the waiting room chairs and put his head in his hands. "I was drinkin', and Claire was driving me home, and so now here she is an' they won't tell me how she's doing."

Rey rubbed his face. God. What a mess.

"OK, don't worry, I'll try and find out what's going on. They probably wouldn't talk to you 'cause you're drunk," he said absently, then cursed himself. That probably wasn't a good thing to say to Lennie right now. "I mean, 'cause you're a little shaken up," he corrected himself, but his tactless comment had already hit home.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm drunk. I fell off the wagon, OK? I know," Lennie said miserably, leaning back and closing his eyes.

"Hey, it's OK," Rey found himself saying. "It's OK, Lennie, don't worry about it. Stay here, I'll be back," he touched Lennie's shoulder encouragingly and made his way to the nurse behind the desk.

"I'm looking for information on Claire Kincaid, car accident..." he showed her his badge. Lennie had probably tried this tactic too, but if he was as unsteady when he came in as he was now, it was no wonder nobody had taken him seriously.

"Oh, yes sir. She's been taken to the OR. She came in unconscious, with severe head trauma... I don't really know much more than that."

"Where can I find out how she's doing right now?"

"Until she comes out of the OR, I don't think you can, sir."

"Has anybody been contacted?"

"Yes sir, her next of kin is listed as her mother. I left a message at her number."

"Thanks," he said, knowing that was probably as much as he was going to get. Just then his cell phone rang.

"Curtis."

"Detective Curtis. What's this about an accident?" McCoy's voice was on the other end. Rey frowned, detecting a slight slur in McCoy's words as well. Christ, did everybody get drunk today except him? He felt a pang of guilt, abruptly remembering what he had done and wishing he'd just gotten drunk as well.

"I can't tell you much more than what I said on your machine. Claire's in the OR right now. You may want to come down here," he added, hearing McCoy's sharp indrawn breath over the phone. "Her mother's already been called, but they just left a message on her machine. Do you know if there's any other way to reach her?"

"Yes," McCoy said, and hung up abruptly. Rey cut the connection and returned to Lennie's side.

He sat down next to Lennie, still leaning back with his eyes closed. "OK, Claire's in the OR and I got a hold of McCoy. He'll probably be here in a little while," he looked at Lennie, concerned. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. No, hell, I'm not fine. If I hadn't been drinking she wouldn't a given me a ride. She'd be OK."

"You don't know that. She coulda gotten in an accident on another street. This wasn't your fault."

"I was drinking."

"This wasn't your fault, Lennie."

Lennie looked at him blearily, a little puzzled. "Hey Mr. I Never Did Drugs and I Never Did Nothin' Wrong, what's with you?"

Rey felt a prickle of apprehension. "What?"

"How come you're not reading me the riot act? What's with this 'It's not your fault'? You know I'm not s'posed to drink, ever."

"Doesn't matter, the accident still wasn't your fault."

"I don't even know why I was drinkin'. Yeah, I do, I'm a drunk. Agh, I'm a sorry excuse for a human being... can't even stay off the bottle," he closed his eyes again.

"Yeah, you can. You did it for years before today. You made a mistake. It happens." They were silent for a few minutes.

"You gonna ask for a new partner now?" Lennie said suddenly, opening his eyes.

"What?"

"You gonna ask for a new partner?"

"Why?" He didn't get the connection for a moment. Then he suddenly understood and, without thinking, answered, "No, of course not. Lennie, you made a mistake. I'm not gonna ask for a new partner 'cause of one mistake. Don't be stupid," he said dismissively, and Lennnie cocked his head to the side, immensely confused. Rey's cell phone rang.

"Curtis."

"Rey? What's going on?"

Deborah. Damn, he thought, I can't deal with this right now. "Hon, I told you I'd call when I knew anything. I still don't. Claire's in the OR and McCoy's on his way and he's getting a hold of her parents. I don't know any more than that, OK? I'll call you later-" he tried to hang up, but she interrupted him.

"Was Lennie drinking?"

He sighed. "Yeah."

"What the hell was he thinking?!" she exclaimed.

"I don't think he was, Deborah. Look, this isn't a good time-"

"Tomorrow you ask your lieutenant for a new partner, you hear? Bad enough that you're out there risking your life, if you can't trust your partner-"

"Deborah, we'll talk about this later-"

"What's to talk about?! You're not thinking of still working with him-"

"Not now! I'll call you later!" he hung up on her.

"That Deborah?" Lennie asked.

"Yeah."

"Sounded pissed off."

"Just worried," he dismissed the topic, and distracted Lennie. "So what happened?"

"You mean the accident?"

"Yeah."

"She was drivin' me, and we went into an intersection an' then boom, crash, big noise, and I get out and there she is, blood all down her face. Ambulance got there pretty fast - somebody musta seen and called it in," Lennie frowned miserably. "I don't think she's gonna make it."

"We don't know that yet. They get the other driver?"

"Yeah, he was fine too. Drunker'n me, if you can believe that," Lennie said bitterly. Rey winced in sympathy at the tone of self-disgust in Lennie's voice. "Took my statement, brought us here, checked me out, I'm jus' fine."

"OK," he said, nodding, trying to think if there was anything else he could do. He looked at Lennie more closely. "So what happened?" he asked gently.

"You mean why was I drinkin'?" Lennie closed his eyes in pain. "'Cause I'm an alcoholic, and this 'recovering alcoholic' crap is just that, a loada crap," he said morosely.

"Lennie, come on. What happened today, how come you fell off today?"

"You gotta ask me that? You were there - oh I forgot, you don't have a problem with it. You think it's just fine, 'cause it's what that bastard deserved, you wish you coulda turned the knobs yourself-" his voice started to grow louder, belligerent.

"Hey, hey, calm down," Rey said soothingly, aware that other people were starting to look at Lennie. "OK, OK, so you were upset about the execution." He paused, not sure where else to go with this.

"Yeah, sorry, my kid might think I gotta heart of brick but I don't, it bugged me, OK? An' I went back to dealin' with my problems the way I used ta. What the hell, it's not like I'm gonna hurt my kids any more by bein' a drunk, right?" he chuckled derisively. "Not like that stopped me before anyway."

"Your daughter?"

"Yeah, had lunch with her. Real nice time. She hates me," he added conversationally.

"She doesn't hate you, Lennie," Rey corrected him automatically.

"Yeah, Mr. Perfect Husband and Daddy, you don't know anything about it. She does. I was a sorry excuse for a daddy then, and I still am now, an' she hates me, and she's got a right to." Rey rubbed his forehead, hurting from Lennie's words - hurting for Lennie and Lennie's family, for himself and his own wife and children. Mr. Perfect Husband and Daddy. Mr. Perfect Husband and Daddy was busy doing a college student today, Lennie, he wanted to tell him. Mr. Perfect Husband and Daddy's gonna be lucky if his wife doesn't kill him tomorrow, or at least walk out and take the kids with her. Mr. Perfect Husband and Daddy went to your apartment tonight because he didn't know what the hell else to do.

"OK, Lennie, relax," Rey said, "Just tell me what happened." He realized he was using his 'soothing the witness to a crime to get the story' voice, but it seemed to work on Lennie.

"So I got together with some friendsa mine, nice time, 'cept they were jokin' about Scott," Rey felt a stab in his gut - would he ever be able to hear that name without that sharp pain? "And then I went to the OTB place an' my daughter's there. You know, Cathy. An' we had lunch. An' we had a nice conversation. An' it was nice. An' then it all went to crap. An' I don't even know how," Lennie paused. "An' you know what? I don't wanna talk about it."

"OK," he said gently. "OK. Let's just wait till McCoy gets here."

"He's pretty ripped too."

"McCoy?"

"Least, he was a couple hours ago. When he left the bar."

"You saw him?"

"Yeah. Went into a bar, and there 'e is, tanked outta his gourd. He was waitin' for Claire, but she stood 'im up. He waited for her all day. So he got a cab. Then Claire comes along. Told her Jack turned inta a pumpkin. Mike thought she was my kid," Lennie laughed softly.

Rey shook his head, confused at the wandering narrative, and tried to reconstruct the day's events. Let's see, Claire had done god only knew what other than standing up her lover, and could very well be dead before the day was through. McCoy had spent hours at a bar waiting around for Claire to pick him up, and now would get to spend hours at a hospital waiting around for Claire to live or die. Lennie had fallen back into the bottle and he had broken his marriage vows. Mickey Scott must be laughing at them all from his brand new corner of Hell.

**ooo000ooo**

"McCoy. Over here," Rey waved McCoy over, and he approached them. Rey looked at him closely. He didn't seem intoxicated, but Rey caught a bit of unsteadiness in his gait.

"Anything?"

"No. No news, she's still in the OR. Did you get a hold of her parents?"

"Yeah. They're on their way," McCoy glanced down at Lennie, still slumped in a chair, and narrowed his eyes at him. "Detective Briscoe?"

"Yeah," Lennie looked up wearily.

"Are you all right?"

"Fit as a fiddle. Nothing wrong with me," he said, slur nearly gone. McCoy noticed, though, and glanced at Rey, eyebrows rising. Rey nodded slightly, and McCoy sighed.

"What happened?"

"Claire came to the bar. You were gone. She was givin' me a ride home and some SOB rammed into us at an intersection."

"Did they get the driver?"

"Yeah."

McCoy sat down, suddenly looking a little lost. "She came... I thought she just decided to ignore me. I was paging her all day."

They sat in silence for a while until a middle-aged couple strode into the emergency room, the woman looking frightened and the man looking very businesslike.

"Where is she? Do you know anything?" they asked McCoy, who stood up to greet them.

"No. Nothing. She's still in the OR."

**ooo000ooo**

None of them would ever forget that night, spent in vigil over Claire Kincaid's fate. They didn't talk much. McCoy went with Claire's parents to try to pry some clue about Claire's fate from the nurses. Rey and Lennie mostly sat in silence, each lost in his own thoughts, each dealing with remorse and regret over his failings that day. They did find out that Claire had apparently spent part of that day talking to her stepfather, arguing about the death penalty and her feelings about it, and her attendance at the execution.

The rest was normal modus operandi for a hospital, which Lennie and Rey were quite familiar with from time spent with victims and families. Styrofoam coffee, linoleum and fluorescent lights, the ding of the elevator. Occasional groans and wails and rushing hospital staff. A small child was brought in screaming in pain, possibly with appendicitis. A young man waited and waited to be seen for severe back pain.

Rey rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. Tired of obsessing about how he could have possibly allowed himself to do what he did that day, he turned to thinking about Claire and Lennie and McCoy.

Claire was in God's hands, and there wasn't much he could do to help her. Lennie hadn't said much, but he was clearly devastated by his fall from sobriety and was feeling worse, not better, as the effects of the alcohol slowly wore off. Rey noted his downcast eyes, his slumped shoulders, his uncharacteristically quiet voice and complete lack of the biting humour that was so much a part of him, and he wished there was something he could do to help. He thought of suggesting prayer to Lennie, but realized that not only would that probably not wash with him - Lennie being about as lapsed as a Catholic could be - but that tonight he didn't really believe in prayer himself. He couldn't even think of praying tonight - not for Claire, or Lennie, or McCoy, or even for himself and his family. Like he didn't have a right to pray.

He turned his thoughts to McCoy. McCoy seemed composed enough, occasionally pacing and leafing through magazines, but Rey could see that he was terribly shaken as well. This had to be incredibly painful for him. While Kincaid and McCoy were both very good at maintaining strict professional demeanor at all times, he and Lennie were well aware of the fact that Kincaid was much more than just McCoy's assistant. Rey thought for a moment of how he would feel if it was Deborah in there, if Deborah was hurt or injured in any way, and he felt a wave of compassion for McCoy. Their relationship probably wasn't anything like his marriage - coworkers who sleep together couldn't possibly be as close as a couple who'd been married for six years and were raising three children together, but still. This had to be heart-wrenching for McCoy.

He felt a stab of guilt. For a while there he'd actually managed to forget his sin, but thinking of Deborah now brought it flooding back. God, would he ever be able to think of his wife again without that immediate reaction?

At about 3 am, McCoy excused himself and quietly asked a nurse the directions to the chapel, of all places. Rey wondered at that. He'd figured with a name like Jack McCoy that he'd probably been brought up Catholic, but McCoy had never struck him as even remotely religious. He'd heard there were no atheists in foxholes. He supposed there were no atheists in hospital emergency rooms when a loved one was at death's door either.

He wondered if there was a cliché saying about adulterers and how they felt about God on the day they fell from grace. He supposed it was ironic - on this day, he felt unable to turn to his faith, unable to even think of turning to God, unworthy to appeal to his normal source of comfort and sustenance, while Jack McCoy was going to a chapel.

About an hour later, a doctor finally stepped out to talk to Claire's parents. They all realized as soon as the doctor came out that the news was not good. Claire's mother looked down, expressionless, visibly paling, as her stepfather covered his mouth with his hand and lost his businesslike air, becoming just another grieving family member, confused and in pain. Rey glanced at McCoy, who looked outwardly impassive, his black eyes flat. Somehow, though, he looked like he aged about ten years in those moments. Rey shivered, looking down. As much as he'd seen death, as much as he'd seen grieving friends and relatives, this still sickened him.

What a waste. Claire Kincaid, alive and shedding tears over the death of a piece of scum like Mickey Scott barely twenty-four hours ago, was now also dead. Or close enough to make no difference. Why? Bad luck and a drunk driver. It made no sense.

He stood, approached McCoy cautiously, waited until McCoy acknowledged his presence. "Is there anything we can do?" he asked quietly. McCoy shook his head.

"Take him home," he nodded his head at Lennie, his voice low, filled with pain. Rey nodded, turned back. He and Lennie approached Claire's parents, murmured a few words of condolences, and left.

**ooo000ooo**

Back home. Near dawn. He'd left Lennie at his apartment, assuring him that he'd call Van Buren in a few hours to let her know they'd both be taking the day off, and wearily made his way home. He stepped into his dark house, everything still and quiet, and looked around. Little shoes arranged in a row at the front door. Toys in bins, neatly put away for the night. Children's artwork on the fridge. The kids' pictures, starting with their births, on the walls. A Pequot quilled bag. Quena pipes from Peru. Portrait of the family in a little frame on a living room table.

Olivia's drawing of all of them, 'My FAMiLy' written in an awkward child's hand. Him tall and thin, wearing a badge. Deborah short and smiling wide, her tiny cross looking huge. Olivia in pigtails and bows, Serena in bright red overalls, Isabel with her bear. All of their faces darker than they were in real life - Olivia hadn't had tan-coloured markers so she'd used dark brown.

He sat down, exhausted and drained. God. What the hell was he going to do? He hadn't thought much about his eventual return home while he was at the hospital, but now here he was. And as he looked around at their life, at the home he and Deborah had made for themselves and their children, he wondered what he'd been thinking yesterday, how he'd let all of this mean less to him than a roll in the hay.

He knew he should go to bed, but also knew that it wouldn't do any good. He'd just lie next to Deborah, watching her sleep and feeling soul-tearing guilt.

He decided to do a bit of reading, took out a novel Deborah had been bugging him to read - something medieval. She was into historical fiction, always trying to get him into it too, and he liked it once he got started but not enough to start without some prodding. Especially when the book was as huge and daunting as this one. He set it down. Right. Try and please Deborah by reading a book she's been trying to get you to read for months, that'll earn you points. Yes, honey, I know I slept with a perfect stranger for no good reason, but look, I finally started to read 'Pillars of the Earth' last night, doesn't that make up for it?

He picked up their Bible, put it back down. Normally it was a source of comfort, a reassurance that though the teachings of the Church were sometimes hard to follow, there was a reason for them. That there was a benevolent presence watching over them. Not today. Today he looked at the cover of their Bible and felt nothing but an aching sense of remorse. He turned aside and his eyes fell on their small picture of the Virgin, gazing at him with compassion and understanding for his human weakness, and bowed his head, finally able to pray.

Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.

Pray for us sinners. He'd never felt that more than right now. They were all sinners, he'd been taught, all fallible, all imperfect. But it was an abstraction. They were all sinners, that was why as a child he'd broken his sister's doll and then lied and said his brother did it. That was why as a teenager he'd boosted a car with his friends. That was why he'd lied to Deborah about not being able to come home from work when he just wanted to avoid Burt. Because he too was a sinner.

But he'd never felt it this viscerally before. Sinner. He'd never felt the burning shame of that label before. Never sinned like this before.

He idly leafed through their catechism. Profession of faith, sacraments of faith, commandments...

_Adultery is an injustice. He who commits adultery fails in his commitment. He does injury to the sign of the covenant which the marriage bond is, transgresses the rights of the other spouse, and undermines the institution of marriage by breaking the contract on which it is based. He compromises the good of human generation and the welfare of children who need their parents' stable union._

God in Heaven, what had he done.

**ooo000ooo**

Deborah came downstairs at seven thirty and found her husband in the kitchen, gazing out at their small back yard. He turned when she came in she was struck by the weariness and sorrow in his eyes. She sighed and went to put her arms around him comfortingly.

"Not good?"

"No," he held her, resting his chin on top of her head. "Not good."

"Is she gone?"

"They couldn't do anything. Too much damage, too much bleeding into the brain. She was technically still alive when we left, but I think that was just so they could prep the organ recipients before pulling the plug."

Deborah closed her eyes. Rey had always spoken highly of Claire Kincaid, in contrast to what he said about her boss. Rey didn't have much use for lawyers most of the time, but felt Claire was more concerned with justice than legal technicalities. The only thing he disapproved of was her relationship with her boss - more because he couldn't understand what she saw in McCoy than any other reason.

"How's Lennie?" she asked, and felt him tense up a bit.

"Not so good. Feels pretty bad about what happened."

"What happened?"

"McCoy was waiting for her at a bar, getting drunk. Lennie went into the bar, McCoy got tired of waiting and left, Lennie got drunk, then Claire showed up and offered to take Lennie home. Then a drunk driver plowed into them," he recited mechanically.

"He should feel bad. If he hadn't gotten drunk she'd still be alive," Deborah commented caustically. Rey sighed, dropped his arms and moved away from her slightly.

"It's not his fault, Deborah. It's the fault of the other driver," he said wearily.

"He shouldn't have been drunk," Deborah pointed out. Rey looked away from her, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly and not responding. "Rey? Why are you defending him? He's not supposed to drink."

"I know that. So does he. It was a bad day, that's all," he said, his voice subdued. Deborah stared at him in puzzlement. It wasn't like Rey to forgive another person's stupidity, especially stupidity as glaring as this.

"Well for heaven's sake if he was having such a bad day he could have gone and prayed or spent some time with his family or gone to a movie or something. Or done what you did, talk it over with somebody and then work." Rey flinched inwardly, feeling that jabbing pain again but knowing he couldn't show it. "He didn't have to go and dive right back into a bottle."

"Deborah, please. Not now, OK?" Rey said quietly, and Deborah relented. For some reason, he didn't seem inclined to make any of his usual quick pronouncements on Lennie's lack of moral fiber today. Probably feeling the effects of a long sleepless night ending with finding out a person he respected and liked was dead. Deborah mentally reprimanded herself for her insensitivity.

"I'm sorry," she said, and approached him again, enfolding him in her arms and rubbing his back. He sighed and hugged her back, holding her close for a few minutes. Feeling comfort in her embrace while at the same time feeling a tearing pain inside, knowing that he didn't deserve her comfort, that the last person he'd held in his arms was another woman, not too many hours ago. Knowing that he couldn't even tell her right now, because the kids would be up any moment now and they couldn't talk in front of them.

"I have to call Van Buren, let her know we're not coming in for our shift today."

"And you need to tell her about Lennie drinking," she reminded him gently. Rey bit his lip, looking away from her. "Rey, you have to. She has to know," she pressed, opening her mouth to remind him that he needed to ask for a reassignment, then thinking better of it. "You have to tell her."

**ooo000ooo**

Two hours later the phone rang, Van Buren calling him back. Deborah handed him the phone and Rey took it into the study to avoid the post-breakfast noise going on in their kitchen. Deborah watched him go, a worried frown on her face. He'd been unusually subdued all morning, patiently listening to Olivia's chatter and not even reacting when Isabel mashed her oatmeal all over her high chair tray. He had just picked up a dishcloth and cleaned it up, reminding Isabel not to do it again in a distracted voice.

He was taking Kincaid's death pretty hard, Deborah thought. Poor Rey - it seemed to have been a particularly difficult end to a particularly difficult day. Odd that he'd had trouble with the execution; he hadn't seemed to think about it much before going. Maybe he shouldn't have gone. Maybe none of them should have gone, judging from his description of how the rest of them had spent their day.

Deborah approached the study, bringing him his coffee, and heard him speaking in a tense, angry tone. "It didn't have anything to do with the accident-" there was a pause, "It's not my job to tell you what Lennie does with his private life!" Another pause, "Oh is that in his contract? Does the PBA know?" Another pause. "I know it's not a game!' he said furiously, "I was gonna talk to him about it, I just didn't think-" he looked up and saw her, and closed his mouth suddenly. He listened to the other end of the line, and said, his voice clipped, "I can't talk right now." He paused. "Yes, we are," he said, and he hung up the phone.

"You didn't tell her," Deborah said slowly, accusingly.

"No," he answered her, voice still tense.

"Rey." Deborah took a deep breath, trying very hard to not lose her composure.

"Don't, OK? I don't need this from you too," he said angrily, trying to leave the study. She snapped and stepped in front of him.

"What the hell are you thinking? You can't cover up for him! What's the matter with you?! This isn't like telling the teacher your buddy cheated on a test, this is your life on the line if Lennie doesn't even have the self-control to keep away from the one thing he's not supposed to-"

"Shut up!!" he shouted at her. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about!! You don't know him, you don't know what he went through yesterday, you don't know a damn thing!!" he pushed past her and went into the living room, and she followed him, rage rising.

The girls looked at them from the kitchen, wide-eyed, not knowing how to take this fight between their parents. While both Rey and Deborah had quick tempers and were prone to blowing up, usually whenever one of them was upset the other one kept control and made sure the situation didn't get out of hand. Now it looked like neither one of them was going to do that.

"I know that I worry enough about you!! I didn't want you partnered with an alcoholic in the first place! But no, you said he'd been off the bottle for years, he was a good cop, you felt safe with him watching your back! Well here you go, the first little thing goes wrong and he goes running right back to the bottle! Still feel safe?!"

"It wasn't a little thing, can you get that?! Damn it, why am I even trying to explain this to you? You weren't there, you don't understand!!" he slammed his hand against the wall in frustration.

"So explain it to me!! Explain what's so devastating about watching a piece of scum whose finest hour should have been an early abortion die and go to Hell like he deserves!!"

Rey suddenly looked at the small, frightened faces of their children and swallowed hard. The anger drained out of him and he looked at Deborah and put out his hand. "Don't. Deborah, don't, you're scaring them. We're scaring them," he corrected himself quickly. "I promise you I'll talk to you about this later today, but right now I have to figure out what I'm gonna do, and I can't do that if we're yelling at each other."

"You have to ask for a new partner," she said firmly.

"We'll talk tonight after the girls are in bed, OK?" he said quietly. She stared at him hard and finally nodded. "I have to go see Van Buren. I'll be back in a few hours."

Rey left his house and leaned his back against his front door, shaking. Another lie. He didn't have to see Van Buren. He had to see Father Morelli, ask his advice. Figure out what he was going to do, not about Lennie's transgression, but about his own.


	4. Tangled Web

**CHAPTER 4: TANGLED WEB**

"Father, can I talk to you in private please?" Rey was waiting for Father Morelli as he opened up the church.  He tried to ignore the growing pain in his stomach, the sense of dread that he felt.  This would work out somehow, he told himself.  There had to be some way to get through this.  Other people committed adultery and their marriages survived.  So would his.

"Of course, Rey," Morelli took him into his office, absently thinking that he needed to speak with their building superintendent about the screen in the second confessional.  Some kid had put wads of gum in the form of a happy face on it two days ago.  Some parishioners had been hard-pressed to stay serious during their confessions yesterday.  And others, actually having serious things to talk about, didn't much care to confess with a big globby happy face staring at them.

"Father, will you hear my confession?" Rey asked, looking away from him.  Father Morelli nodded, a little curious.  Some parishioners preferred to confess face-to-face, especially for more serious transgressions, but Rey had always been content with the regular confessional.  He put his surplice on, sitting down, indicating the space in front of him.  There was a chair there if Rey chose it.  Face-to-face confessions didn't require that the penitent kneel the whole time, since they could get pretty long.  Rey ignored the chair, knelt before him and crossed himself slowly.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.  It's been three days since my last confession," he took a deep breath.  Father Morelli suddenly noticed that he was looking nervous, as he'd never seen Rey look before, and he felt a flicker of alarm.  Rey swallowed hard.  Time to own up to what he had done.  "I..." he took another deep breath and said quickly, "I committed adultery."

For a moment the words literally made no sense to Morelli.  Then they did.

Oh my God.

Father Morelli looked at Rey, head bowed before him, looking down at the floor, and felt his mouth drop open.  Then he felt his stunned amazement give way to absolute fury.  Rey?  Rey Curtis, with the pretty young wife, with the three beautiful little girls, Rey Curtis whose biggest complaint in life was that his partner was a twice-divorced recovering alcoholic whose sense of humour was a little hard to take sometimes?  Rey Curtis, who three days ago had confessed to fudging the truth to get out of a tedious social commitment, swearing, and saying a couple of unkind words to his partner, who probably deserved them?

An adulterer?

How DARE he?

Rey knelt, head bowed, waiting for Morelli to speak, heart racing, but in a way, a little relieved.  He'd confessed.  He'd taken the first step in trying to deal with the damage he'd done.  Whatever happened now couldn't be as bad as knowing that nobody knew, nobody except him and God knew of his sin, everybody thought things were the same as they had been yesterday morning.

Father Morelli was still staring at Rey.  To anybody who didn't know him, Rey would have looked fine, a little nervous, but probably just waiting to see how long it was going to take him to do his penance and whether he'd still be able to catch his favourite TV show when he was done.  But Morelli knew Rey, had known him for six years, and knew his normally slightly arrogant, self-confident expression and body language.  Now he knelt and looked like he'd just confessed to murder.  Which in a way he had, Father Morelli thought.  He'd killed a perfect marriage.

No, that was unkind.  He thought of his own advice to Rey - you haven't lived his life, you shouldn't judge.   He quickly got a hold of his anger and shock.

"Tell me what happened," he made his voice soothing.

"I don't know...  I don't understand how I could have done what I did."

"Start at the beginning.  When did this happen?"

"Yesterday.  I went to the execution," Father Morelli immediately suppressed the fleeting desire to ask how that had gone; this really wasn't the appropriate time for such a conversation - and nodded encouragingly.  "It went OK, I mean, as far as executions go, I guess.  Then we got back into town and it was my day off, and I was gonna go home but... I don't know why I didn't..." he trailed off, helpless to explain what had happened.

Father Morelli realized he would have to walk him through this.  Despite his outward composure, Rey was far too upset to talk about this coherently.  He'd done this for other parishioners... just never thought he'd be doing it for Rey.

"Did you know her?"

"No.  I, I went to Central Park, and she came up and started talking to me, and... it, it seemed innocent at the time.  I thought, this is OK, this is just talking, this is just going to lunch, this is just picking out some CDs..."

"What happened after you picked out the CDs?"

"She... she said she just bought a new stereo and she - she said it was pretty good, good sound quality, and, and she asked if I wanted to hear for myself, away from an electronics store..." Rey paused, shaking his head, and Father Morelli reflected he'd never seen Rey at a loss for words, never heard him almost stammering in confusion.  "I, I was thinking of getting the same one for - for Deborah, actually, ours is starting to skip sometimes and she's been complaining..." his brow furrowed as he thought of his wife.  He looked up at Morelli and Morelli nodded encouragingly, keeping his tone soothing,

"OK, OK, so you went to listen to the stereo..."

"Yeah, we - we got to her place and she put one of her CDs on and... and she wanted to dance... and I... and we did, and then we had some wine, and, and then..." he trailed off and caught his breath, "I don't know what I was thinking."  He suddenly covered his face with his hands, breathing in deeply.  "God, what am I gonna say to Deborah?"

Father Morelli felt a pang of alarm.  "What do you mean?"

Rey put his hands down, looked away from him, and said softly, almost to himself, "How am I gonna tell her?"

"You're not."

Rey looked up at him, shock written across his features.  "What?!"

"You are not going to tell her.  You are not going to say a word to her," Father Morelli commanded him sternly.

"But... but you always say-" confusion flooded Rey's face.

"I always say marriage is built on honesty and trust.  And your marriage is.  Was.  But this is different," Morelli gathered himself, going into marriage-counselor mode.  Sternly willing himself to get past his anger at Rey, that he should have to do this for Rey of all people.  "Rey, complete honesty is for picture-perfect marriages.  Like it or not, you don't have that any more," he said bluntly.  Rey drew his breath in sharply, looking like he'd been slapped across the face, but holding his gaze.  "Complete honesty is for telling your wife that you missed dinner with her friends on purpose, not for telling her that you've betrayed her and your children and God for a cheap thrill.  It just doesn't work that way."

"But how can I not tell her?  I... I feel so guilty.  I can't live a lie, this isn't how Deborah and I are," he protested, shaking his head vehemently.  "This isn't how our marriage is.  We don't lie to each other, I can't -"

"_You_ want to tell her.  _You're_ feeling guilty.  _You_ can't live with a lie," Father Morelli said harshly.  "What about Deborah?  Has she done anything to deserve the pain you're going to put her through by telling her?"  Rey flinched.  "What about your children?  Have they done anything to deserve having their parents' marriage disintegrate?"  Rey paled, his eyes looking darker than ever.  He dropped his eyes and bowed his head, anguished remorse filling him like a physical presence.  God, his kids... how could he have done this?

"Your wife and your children are more important than your guilty conscience.  You did this.  You have to live with it.  It may be that eventually you will have to tell her, but you don't know that yet.  And if you care about her at all, you will just live with this until you can tell, rationally, without being blinded by your own stupid impulses, what's the right thing to do."

Morelli leaned forward.  "You fucked up, Rey," Rey looked up at him, startled by the obscenity.  "Badly.  You will have to live with the consequences of what you did for the rest of your life.  Start dealing with it."  Tears suddenly sprang to Rey's eyes and he quickly looked back down, and Morelli felt shock.  Rey, who had never shown a more negative emotion than annoyed irritation or sheepish embarrassment in his presence, had tears in his eyes, looked devastated.

Morelli suddenly felt a pang of remorse.  He needed Rey to understand the consequences of his actions and not screw up any more than he already had, but he was going too far.  The aim was to save Rey's marriage, not deliberately attack him.  The aim was damage control and penitence, not cruel punishment.

"Rey... I'm sorry, that was unkind."

"No," Rey whispered.  "No, Father.  You're right.  My God, what have I done?"

**ooo000ooo**

"Rey?" Deborah looked up as he entered their home.  He looked tired, drawn... so sad.  "Lieutenant Van Buren just called.  She wants you to come in and see her."

He nodded, taking off his jacket and sitting down heavily.

"Rey?"  He looked up at her, exhausted and dazed.  "Weren't you going to see her?"

He closed his eyes.  Damn.  Right.  That's what he said he was going to do.  Damn damn damn, think of an excuse... "I uh, I went to see Father Morelli instead - about what to do about Lennie... ended up taking a lot more time than I thought."  OK, that was plausible. He'd have to call Father Morelli and let him know about Lennie's being drunk yesterday, let him know that this was the excuse of the day, so that she wouldn't figure it out when she talked to Morelli herself.

Suddenly he was disgusted with the whole situation.  Getting his story straight, needing to establish alibis and make sure his priest, of all people, knew the correct lie to tell his wife if he had to.  Well, Morelli was the one who said he should keep this to himself, so Morelli could damn well help him do it.

Deborah sat down next to him.  "What did Father Morelli say?"

Crap.  That's the problem with lying - you have to keep it going.  What would Father Morelli say about Lennie getting drunk?  Try not to judge him, you haven't lived his life, yadda yadda... but what about being his partner?  What about telling Van Buren?  No, that ship had sailed, Van Buren already knew... what else would he have talked to Morelli about if this morning had been spent talking about Lennie's indiscretion instead of his own?

"Rey?"

"We just talked about why Lennie was drunk.  And how I felt about the execution and the accident, and Claire Kincaid's death," he made a mental note to himself to inform Father Morelli of this.

"What about partnering with him?"

OK, this he could deal with.  And it wouldn't be pleasant, he could tell they were going to have a serious disagreement about it, but it would at least give him something to do other than think about how badly he'd messed up his life.

"I don't want a new partner, hon," he said, as non-confrontationally as possible.

She pursed her lips and nodded, taking a deep breath.  OK, that was a good sign.  That's what she usually did when she was pissed off but genuinely trying to handle it without blowing up.  Not the usual 'I'm mad as hell and I'm gonna keep a lid on it as long as possible, but just you wait', but an actual 'I'm mad as hell but let's see if we can get through this without me losing it'.

"OK... why not?"

"We work really well together.  And it was one mistake, Deborah."

"One mistake is all it takes if he's drunk one day when he's supposed to be backing you up."

"If I was a beat cop, I'd agree.  It's different in Homicide."

"Homicide.  You deal with people committing homicide, murderers.  You gonna just hope he's sober when one of those murderers suddenly snaps?" she asked with some asperity.  He sighed and she put her hand on his arm, trying to keep herself in check.  He felt like her hand was burning him, but kept himself still.

"We spend most of our day in the car or at the precinct.  It's not like beat cops who spend most of their day in the line of fire.  I'm not saying I won't be watching, I'm just saying it's not like we're in danger 24/7."

"Doesn't it scare you at all that he fell off the wagon that easily?  Watches one execution, all of a sudden he's screwing up in such a huge way?" He winced and she wondered at him.  It really wasn't like him to defend his partner to her.  She knew he had grown to like Lennie and enjoyed working with him, but he was nothing if not judgmental of Lennie's many failings.

"It wasn't a little thing.  I can't explain it, it's just... it was hard watching that guy die, knowing we put him there, OK?  Not that he shouldn't have died, but... it was just really... hard," he finished off, knowing that was probably as much as he'd ever be able to talk about how he had felt the day before.  "And it hit Lennie worse than me, 'cause he wasn't even sure he agreed with the death penalty in the first place.  And then he had lunch with his daughter and she said some pretty nasty things."

"Which he probably deserved," Deborah put in acidly.  Rey looked away from her.

"Yeah, probably.  I think that made it worse, though.  He knows he's a screw-up, OK?  Doesn't make it easier to live with.  So he went back to the bottle for one night.  And now Claire's dead and he feels like crap."

Deborah listened, not accustomed to hearing Rey talk about things like this.  She felt her anger dying down as she genuinely tried to understand what Rey was trying to get across.

"Do you feel like you can't add to what he's going through?" she asked, and he glanced at her, slightly surprised.  They didn't often discuss feelings, and she wasn't much better at it than he was when it came to talking about her own emotions, but she had been a counselor at the church for a while and had picked up a few tricks to get other people to open up.  Not that she'd ever needed any of them with Rey, but it was coming into use right now.

"Yeah, I guess that's part of it... I dunno."

"OK..." she tried to figure out where to go from here.  She needed him to change his mind.  She couldn't stand knowing that he was putting his life on the line with an unreliable partner.

"That's not all... I just really don't think he'll ever do this again.  You didn't see him at the hospital, you didn't see how bad he felt."

"It's all fine and good to feel bad now, Rey, it's how he felt when he was doing it that matters," she pointed out bluntly, and he winced again.  Without meaning to, she kept saying things that brought him back to his own sin.  He realized they were really having two conversations - hers, which was solely about Lennie, and his, which was about himself as well.  "You don't think he'd ever do it again... would you have thought he'd do it at all, the day before yesterday?"

Damn, there she went again.  Stabbing him without having the slightest idea she was doing it.  He felt like he was bleeding inside, every word she said to condemn Lennie ripping into him as well... and he couldn't even tell her.  Couldn't even ask her to stop.

If Father Morelli wanted him to do penance for his sin, this was penance, all right.  Far worse than any direct confrontation, this was going to kill him if it kept up much longer.

No, it wouldn't.  He did the crime, he'd do the time, and suck it up.  At least she wouldn't get hurt - she didn't even know anything bad was going on.  He came back to their conversation.

"No, I wouldn't have.  I thought he'd really beaten it."  He rubbed his forehead.  "Can we compromise on this at all?  I don't want a new partner right now.  Can we agree to something, like if he ever drinks again I'm outta there?"

"How are you gonna know if he's drinking again?"

"He wouldn't cover it, not with me."

"He's not you, you know.  You wouldn't lie to cover something you did wrong, but Lennie doesn't have that kind of moral upbringing.  You've said so yourself, he's perfectly willing to commit perjury, tell half-truths, accept bribes if he thinks they're not really bribes, do all sorts of things he shouldn't do just because he thinks there's a good reason..."

Rey actually felt unable to breathe for a moment.  He really couldn't do this.  This was a nightmare.  He couldn't live a lie with his own wife.

Yes, he could.  For her sake, yes he damn well could.

"I think this is different."

"Talk to Van Buren, OK?" Deborah finally suggested, hoping that maybe Van Buren would talk some sense into him.  It could be that all of this would be moot - for all she knew, Lennie was at this moment being cashiered out of the force.

**ooo000ooo**

Anita Van Buren rubbed her eyes wearily, wishing she didn't have to work today.  There were days when really, all she wanted to do was cuddle up with her husband in front of the TV and not think about anything that went on outside the walls of her home.

Instead, yesterday she had spent the day working and dealing with the aftermath of the execution of Mickey Scott.  She hadn't even gone, but she'd still had to deal with it.  Briscoe had seemed OK at the time, a little disturbed by it but basically fine... but then Curtis had completely lost it, for no particular reason at all, with some creep in the holding cell.  And then Claire Kincaid had come in, looking for Lennie and staying to chat, and Anita had thanked her guardian angel for making sure she didn't go watch it herself.

Claire Kincaid.  Anita felt a pang of pain.  Here yesterday, eating Chinese food and agonizing over the death penalty and the justice system, and gone today.  Just like that.  It was going to be tough to deal with this.  She and Kincaid had become fairly close, as coworkers go, in part from the bond they shared as women in a man's world.  Kincaid even reminded Anita of herself a little bit - the uncertainty she herself felt at times was more visible with Kincaid, but she had the same toughness that anybody dealing in the criminal justice system had to adopt.  Women in particular.

She hadn't been so tough yesterday, though.  None of them had.  Claire agonizing and ignoring McCoy... Curtis losing it over something even Curtis should have been able to handle... and Briscoe falling back into the bottle.

Anita sighed.  Lennie Briscoe.  What the hell was she going to do?  He and Curtis were supposed to come in in a few hours, and she didn't have a clue what to say to them.  Either one of them.  Should she suspend Briscoe?  Could she do that, legally?  Should she pull him off Homicide, even though he was one of her best detectives, because she couldn't trust him to stay sober?  Should she just listen to him, try to understand what happened yesterday?

And Curtis... what was she supposed to do about him?  She'd almost had a conniption when she realized that he'd known about Briscoe being drunk and hadn't told her about it.  Curtis, who was about as straight-arrow and rigid as you could be and still be a human being, had hidden Briscoe's foul-up from her.  And what's more, he hadn't even apologized for it when she confronted him later.  He'd said it had nothing to do with the accident, that there was no reason for him to tell her about Briscoe's private life.

"He doesn't get to have a private life if it involves alcohol!" she'd yelled at him.  And he'd just made some snarky comment about should that be in Lennie's contract and did the PBA know.

"Don't play stupid with me, Detective Curtis!  You're the one whose life is gonna be in danger if your partner falls back into a bottle!  This is not a game!" she'd replied, and he'd abruptly said he couldn't talk right then and cut her off.

What was the matter with all of them?  What was Briscoe thinking when he broke years of sobriety?  What was Curtis thinking when he covered that up?  And what was she supposed to do about it now?

**ooo000ooo**

Rey walked into Van Buren's office feeling like he was sleepwalking.  The last two hours in Deborah's presence had been torture; knowing that this was how it was going to be from now on had been hell.  Deborah, innocently assuming that he was just upset about Lennie's drinking and Claire's death; the kids, happy to have their father there and enthusiastically including him in their activities; and him, knowing he'd betrayed them all and none of them knew and he could never, ever tell and he could never trust himself or feel the same about himself again.

He supposed he'd get used to it; people got used to all kinds of things, after all.  But right now, he was in Hell, and the last thing he needed was to go and spend time talking about somebody else's mistakes.  Especially knowing that Lennie and LT also had no idea what he'd done the day before; that Lennie, who he'd gone to for help the day before, would now be looking to him for help.  When he didn't feel able to help anybody.

Lennie was already there, but it looked like he'd just arrived.  Van Buren regarded them both sternly, and Rey thought to himself that it must be nice to feel that sure of yourself.  She looked like she didn't have any doubts about what to do.  He abruptly remembered that the day before yesterday he could have said the same about himself most of the time too.

"Detective Curtis, come in please," she said in a tone that could freeze napalm.

She waited until he was seated, and began.  "We need to talk about what happened yesterday.  Detective Briscoe, as you know, I am aware that you were intoxicated.  I have serious doubts about your ability to work here if you are unable to keep yourself away from alcohol.  Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No," Lennie's voice was flat, lacking his usual good humour.  He looked exhausted, worn out.  Rey doubted it was just the hangover.

Van Buren glared at him.  "No?  That's it?  You fall off the wagon and you just have no comment?"

Rey spoke up, pissed off at Van Buren's attitude.  "What's he supposed to say? You got a script you want him to follow?" he asked belligerently.  Van Buren looked at him, keeping the glare on but inside not knowing how to deal with him at all.  She would've thought he'd be the first person to berate Lennie soundly, demand a new partner, tell Lennie he needed to retire if he was gonna dive back into the bottle.  Instead, here he was, firmly aligning himself with Lennie, who didn't look like he knew how to take this either.

"I would like an explanation for his behaviour, Detective Curtis," Van Buren told him in an even tone, "And when he's done I would like an explanation for yours."  She waited until he nodded and turned back to Lennie.  "Detective?" she prompted him.

Lennie sighed.  "I wasn't feeling too good about the execution.  Then I went and had lunch with my daughter and it didn't go great, so I had a few vodkas."

"That's it?  This isn't making me feel confident in your ability to be steady enough to do your job."

"He wasn't drunk on the job," Rey pointed out.

"It's not your turn to speak, Detective Curtis," Van Buren reminded him icily.

"I don't see what you got us in here for if-" he started to say angrily, and she cut him off.

"Detective Curtis, if you can't control yourself any better than you did yesterday I suggest you go for a walk while I talk to your partner," she snapped.  For a moment he was frozen, wondering how she knew what he had done yesterday - then he realized she was talking about him losing it with the perp in the holding cell.  Of course she didn't know about JC, nobody did.  He glanced at Lennie, wondering whether Lennie would want him here or not and realized that Lennie would just let Van Buren walk all over him today if there was nobody here to stand up for him.

"Fine," he said tightly.  Van Buren turned back to Lennie.

"What happened yesterday is inexcusable," she said forcefully.  "You are an alcoholic.  The one thing you cannot do is consume alcohol.  You are in a dangerous profession in which you need to have all your faculties clear.  Your partner's life depends on your steadiness and self-control.  I will not have you jeopardize your partner's life or your own by your conduct."

Lennie was silent, looking down at the floor.

"I am tempted to ask you to hand in your resignation," Rey made a sound of protest, quickly stifled when she glared at him, and Lennie kept looking at the floor impassively.  "Unfortunately I don't know what the PBA would say about that.  I haven't talked to them yet, but I will once we finish this meeting."

Lennie nodded listlessly.

"Detective Briscoe?"

"Yeah," he muttered.

"Do you think I should I ask for your resignation?"  Lennie shrugged.  Rey crossed his arms and blew out his breath, frustrated that Lennie was just sitting there.  Van Buren started to open her mouth to reprimand him, but quickly realized that he hadn't actually said or done anything that she could reprimand him for - other than 'I don't like your posture or expression right now', which would sound pretty silly.  She took in Lennie's downcast eyes and abruptly changed her approach.

"Lennie.  Do you think I should ask for your resignation?" she asked more gently.  Rey glanced at her, noting the change in her tone.

"I dunno," Lennie muttered.

Rey cleared his throat.  He waited until Van Buren looked at him, then tried to keep his tone respectful and said, "Do you mind if I talk for a minute?"  She nodded.  "LT... he made a mistake," he paused.  "He's been sober for years, yesterday was a bad day, and he made a mistake.  He deserves a second chance."  Lennie stared at him, nonplussed.  "You do," he told Lennie gently.

"He had a second chance.  And a third and a fourth.  His record isn't spotless, Detective Curtis.  There's only so many times you can get another chance," Van Buren pointed out, her tone no longer cold, but still firm.

"Doesn't it make any difference that nothing like this has happened for years?  We're not talking about him screwing up at work over and over and the last time was last week.  We're talking about Lennie being sober for years, being a hell of a detective, with a hell of a close rate, and screwing up once, off the job, after watching an execution.  He didn't break any laws.  Nobody would've even known about it if it hadn't been for the accident.  Which wasn't his fault," he added.  "LT, don't fire him," he said simply.  "The punishment doesn't fit the crime."

"Do you trust him to watch your back?"

"Absolutely," he answered, looking straight at Lennie.

Van Buren turned to Lennie.  "Lennie?"

"Where'd my regular partner, Pat Buchanan, go?" Lennie asked Rey.  Rey smiled ruefully, wishing he could tell him.

"I just think you're a good cop.  You don't deserve to get kicked off the force over this."

"Lennie?  Can I trust you to not do this again?" Van Buren asked.

"I'd like to say yeah, but I woulda said that two days ago and I woulda been wrong," Lennie said, looking back down.

"Lennie, how long since you had a drink?" Rey asked.

"One day," Lennie snapped at him tiredly.

"I'm not talking about the AA count where the only thing that matters is the last time you drank.  I mean for real, before yesterday, how long since you'd had a drink?"

"One day.  That's all that matters.  There's a reason you start the count over whenever you drink, 'cause otherwise you tell yourself I've been sober five years, I only had one drink, and the one drink turns into two, and three, and then you're right back where you started.  You're a drunk but you still think you've been sober for five years."  Rey sat back, acknowledging his point without agreeing with it.

"Have you been going to AA meetings lately?" Van Buren asked.

"Not really... I kinda got out of the habit."

"Then you need to get back in the habit," she told him.  Lennie nodded.  "I'll have to put this in your record.  If you do this again..."

"Yeah.  I know."

"And I need you to promise to attend your meetings."

"Yeah."

"You're on very, very thin ice, Lennie," she reminded him.

"I know."

"OK.  Contact your PBA rep, we'll set up a meeting and work something out."  Lennie nodded.  Van Buren turned to Rey.

"Detective Curtis," she began, then paused.  She really didn't know what to say to him either, but knew she had to keep her air of authority.  "What's your explanation for your own behaviour?"

Rey rubbed his forehead, reflecting that she was asking a hell of a lot more than she thought she was.  Of course she just wanted to know about him covering for Lennie's foul-up, but...

"Detective?"

"What do you want me to say?  That I'm sorry I didn't tell you?" Lennie stared at him.

"That would be a good start," Van Buren said evenly.

"You didn't tell her?" Lennie asked him, incredulous.

"No, I got to hear it from the investigating officer," she informed him.  "Which I shouldn't have."  She turned back to Rey.  "I will repeat what I said to you this morning, Detective, this is not a game.  You are responsible for your partner's safety as well as your own.  His behaviour if he relapses could seriously compromise his safety and yours, and you aren't doing anybody any favours by keeping quiet about it."

Rey nodded, looking down.

"I expect you to keep me informed if Lennie backslides.  Do I make myself clear?" she asked him sternly.  He nodded again.  "Do either of you have anything else to say about this?"

They shook their heads in tandem.  Van Buren was struck with a sudden image of two little boys in the principal's office, or her sons being reprimanded for not picking up their toys.  That was the mother in her, at least part of the time seeing the cops under her command as her kids.  Always walking the fine line between nurture and discipline.

"Fine.  Lennie, I expect you to set up that meeting with your PBA rep, and I expect both of you to return to work tomorrow.  That's all," she dismissed them, and they stood and started to leave.  "One more thing," they turned back.  "Jack McCoy called to let me know that Claire Kincaid's funeral will be tomorrow at the Ginghampton Funeral Home.  2pm."

Rey headed out and Lennie caught up with him.

"Rey, can we go for coffee?" he asked quietly.  Rey nodded to him, and they left the precinct.

**ooo000ooo**

"So... what's this?"

"What's what?" Rey asked, sipping his coffee.  They had been quiet all the way to the diner, and hadn't said a word until they were sitting together at the counter.

"This isn't you, partner.  I woulda thought you'd be the first one wanting her to can my ass."

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you thought," Rey said in an offhand tone.  I don't even know me as well as I thought, he added silently to himself.  They were quiet for another moment, neither one sure where else to take this conversation.

"What happened with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Yesterday.  What did you do?  Did you just work?"

Rey thought for a moment.  He had to get his story straight - he'd worked for a couple of hours, that part was true, but then he'd met JC and spent the day with her, and he sure as hell wasn't going to tell Lennie about that if he wasn't even telling his own wife.  But he'd told Deborah he was with McCoy, which wouldn't wash with Lennie because Lennie knew McCoy had spent most of the day at a bar... would Lennie and Deborah ever meet and end up comparing notes on what he told them he did with his day?

He abruptly remembered that he'd already told Deborah that McCoy had spent some of the day at a bar - would she remember that he told her he was with McCoy?  And would she wonder what time he left McCoy's office, since he called her at 7pm and to his memory he'd sounded like he'd just left McCoy, but by midnight when he came home, McCoy had already been at a bar long enough to get wasted and get tired of waiting for Claire... no, that could work, if McCoy went to the bar after 7.  Which he hadn't, but that probably wouldn't come up in casual conversation with Deborah.

This was why the truth was better.  He was going to have to get himself a pen and paper just to work out the timeline here, to get his stories straight.  His lies straight, let's not use euphemisms and call them stories, he thought bitterly.

'Oh what a tangled web we weave/When first we practice to deceive,' floated through his head.  Most people thought that was Shakespeare, but it was actually Sir Walter Scott.  JC probably would have known that.  Sharp stab of shame as he thought of JC again.

"Earth to Rey?"  Lennie said.

"I worked for a bit.  Lost it with a perp in the holding cell, so LT sent me home.  Spent some time in the Park."  At least that was a Catholic evasion, not a lie.  The truth and nothing but the truth, just not the whole truth.

Lennie peered at him closely.  There was something here that Rey wasn't telling him, he could sense it.  Knowing Rey, though, it would take nothing short of a nuclear explosion to get him to open up if he didn't want to.  And today Lennie didn't have the energy to try.  He didn't know when he'd have the energy to try.  He felt like he'd been run over himself, never mind that the doctors had told him he'd suffered no physical damage during the crash.  Most likely the aftereffect of a massive hangover and two almost sleepless nights in a row.  And Claire.

Oh god, poor Claire.  That poor kid.  And poor McCoy.  He felt a wave of sorrow wash over him, and remorse at having been the cause of Claire's death.  With the clearing of his head had come the intellectual realization that no, he wasn't actually at fault for her death, it was just bad luck... but nothing could lessen his emotional reaction.

"Did it bother you at all?  The execution?" he probed.

"Yeah."

Nothing else seemed forthcoming.  Well, Rey was nothing if not closemouthed about his feelings, unless his feelings involved righteous indignation, contempt for perps and occasionally, coworkers, or love for his wife and children.  Anything else seemed to be pretty much off-limits as a topic of conversation for Rey.  Uncertainty, guilt, embarrassment, regret... all the feelings that Lennie was dealing with were, as far as Lennie could tell, completely foreign to his partner.

Oh well, thought Lennie, at least Rey wasn't spewing righteous indignation at him now.  He was being uncharacteristically charitable, compassionate even, and Lennie should probably just accept it gratefully and not question it.

He did wonder how this would affect their partnership.  They worked fairly well as equals, in part because Rey seemed to understand that despite Lennie's spotty record, questionable ethics and complete incomprehension of computers, he did have a lot more experience and street smarts, and his spotty record was just that: a record.  It was in the past.  What would happen now that Rey had seen his past come up and smack him in the face, had seen him sodden and miserable, had had to stand up for him with Van Buren, had basically been told that he was to be a narc?  Lennie didn't relish having Rey's sharp eyes evaluating his behaviour, ready to pass judgment on him and run to Van Buren at the first sign on trouble.

On the other hand, maybe it wouldn't be a big deal.  For whatever reason, Rey had proven his loyalty to him by keeping quiet once already, so maybe he wouldn't let this affect their working relationship after all.

Not that Lennie expected Rey to keep quiet again if he did start drinking.  He agreed with Van Buren that Rey should be more concerned with their safety than Lennie's reputation, and if Lennie could backslide the way he had yesterday, maybe he did need a babysitter.  It rankled to have 'Junior' put in that position... but after yesterday he knew he should just count himself lucky to still have a job, still have a partner who wanted to work with him.  Just swallow his pride and accept that this kid who was barely thirty-two was gonna be his keeper.  He'd had to swallow his pride about far worse things than that.

Rey sipped his coffee, exhausted, upset, and earnestly wishing he could confide in Lennie. Tell him of the overwhelming remorse and shame that he was feeling, the frustration of not even being able to tell Deborah, the agonizing sorrow of having damaged his marriage and now having to live with it without even being able to own up to it or make up for it.  Ever.

But he'd agreed with Father Morelli, eventually, that Deborah shouldn't be told.  And once he'd agreed to keep it from his wife, there was no way he could tell anybody else.

"Rey," Lennie began, not knowing what he wanted to say, but knowing he had to clear some stuff or he wouldn't be able to go back to work.  "Look, I'm uh... I'm sorry about all this," he began awkwardly.  Rey shrugged dismissively.

"Don't worry about it."

"No... this... I put you in a bad position.  I got you in trouble with LT.  Thanks for standing up for me in there, by the way."

"No problem."

"I... I fucked up.  And now you're still in a bad position, I mean she's basically said you gotta tell on me if I go back to the bottle.  Like you hafta be my babysitter or something."

Rey shook his head, dismissing his concerns.  "Don't make a big deal out of it, Lennie."

"It's a big deal to me.  I mean, I agree with her, if I'm... if I'm having a problem you can't cover it.  I can't believe you did," he added, observing Rey closely.  Rey kept his eyes on his coffee cup, face impassive.  OK, no clue there as to why he'd behaved in such a completely uncharacteristic way.  "I mean, you're the big morality police.  I really expected you to tell."  Lennie kept his eyes on Rey's expressionless face, and probed a bit.  "What happened to the guy who thought accepting a free meal at a restaurant was the same as a bribe?"

"That's potential police corruption.  This is a drinking problem.  It's not the same thing at all."

"My drinking problem could affect how I do my job though.  You know that, you've heard the stories."

Rey shrugged.

"You know, I'll understand if you don't wanna work with me.  You don't have to stay partnered 'cause you... feel sorry for me or anything," he spoke past bitter bile, hating the fact that he had to say this, the feeling of having this squeaky-clean kid in a position of power over him, in a position to judge or condescend.  "I dunno, maybe I should take retirement," he muttered.

"Lennie, I meant what I said.  I don't think this is gonna happen again."

"What makes you say that?"

"It was a bad day, that's all."

"There's gonna be other bad days."

"Yeah, and you had bad days before yesterday and you did OK.  Don't assume just 'cause you messed up one time that it's gonna happen again."

Lennie's detective instincts kicked in full force.  Something here wasn't right.  Saint Rey Curtis hadn't just out of the blue done a 180 in terms of everything he believed in when it came to second chances and human frailty.  Something had happened to him yesterday, something a lot bigger than watching Mickey Scott expire.  Unfortunately, while Lennie trusted his instincts to sense something was off, he also knew his limits as a detective and knew he probably wouldn't be able to figure it out.  Rey was too tough a nut to crack.  He put it on the back burner for now.

"What about Deborah?"

"What about her?" Rey gave an almost undetectable start.

Trouble in paradise? Lennie took in the slight hunch in Rey's shoulders, the quickly suppressed look of... what?  Had he and Deborah had a fight?  "She's always worried about you.  How does she feel about you working with me now?"

"Let me worry about Deborah," Rey said.  "You worry about yourself."

"OK."

Rey tried to suppress a yawn.

"You better go home.  You look like you need a nap."

"Yeah."

"How much sleep did you get last night?"

"I didn't," Rey said shortly.

"Why, what time did you get home this morning?"

"About 5," he yawned again.

Something had to have happened to Rey.  He hadn't come in to Van Buren's office until mid afternoon.  And between 5am and 2:30pm he'd had no sleep at all?  They were both used to all-nighters, both used to catching up on their sleep as soon as possible.  It didn't make sense that Rey had just decided to miss a full night, especially after being up almost all night the night before because of the execution.  He'd slept a bit in the car on the way to Attica and back, but not enough to make an entire second night of lost sleep an option unless there was something seriously wrong.

Ah well.  Plenty of time to figure this out later, when he wasn't so damn tired himself.

"Well, let's get a move on then."  They paid for their coffees and left.  "I'll see you tomorrow.  Thanks, Rey."

"No problem.  Get some more sleep, I'll see you tomorrow."

Lennie headed off to his empty apartment, knowing he'd go to sleep with thoughts of his loss of sobriety, Van Buren's rightfully pissed off attitude, and guilt over Claire Kincaid.  He wished he had somebody to go home to like Rey did - a family, wife, kids.  Wished he hadn't thrown it all away when he did have all of that.  Wished he didn't have this splitting hangover now.

Rey headed back to his full house, knowing that after he finally got some sleep he'd have to face Deborah and tell her that he was still going to work with Lennie.  That wouldn't go over well, he could tell, although this morning she'd been a lot more patient than he'd expected.  Hopefully they could get through this without another fight, especially in front of the kids.

He sighed.  He wasn't the most introspective person in the world, but it didn't take Freud to figure out that the reason he wasn't judging Lennie's fall from grace the day before was that he sympathized with it completely.  He knew Van Buren, Lennie and Deborah were all puzzled as hell, and he couldn't explain it to any of them.

He wished he was going to an empty house, just to not have to deal with anybody else.  To not have to face his guilt.  Wished he didn't feel so completely alone all of a sudden, so cut off from his wife and children because of his damn stupid mistake and his lies.


	5. Funeral

**CHAPTER 5: FUNERAL**

"Rey?"

"Mm?" he slowly woke up. Deborah was sitting on the bed.

"Rey, you said you wanted me to wake you up right after dinner so you could put the girls to bed. Did you get enough sleep?"

"Yeah," he slowly sat up, blinking the sleep away and yawning. Yeah, he'd had enough sleep. Enough to be able to face his family, anyway.

He got up, bracing himself to put his daughters to bed. Happy little kids, you'd think it would be easy to face them, but it really wasn't, not when you were swimming in guilt. Not when you found it hard to meet their trusting eyes and smile back at them.

"So what did you do today?" Rey asked the girls as they started to put their toys into bins.

"We went to the pool and you know what? I can swim all the way across an' I only took one breath!" Olivia told him, gap-toothed smile wide.

"Wow, that's pretty good."

"Yeah I can do it too, Daddy!" chipped in Serena.

"No way, you hadda take three breaths," Olivia contradicted her.

"Did not!" Serena was indignant.

"Did so!"

"Did not!"

"Hey, hey, hey, how about next time you go swimming, I'll go with you and you can show me, deal?" he told Serena, defusing the squabble. Serena was going through the fantasy-lying stage, where kids lie because they still haven't figured out the firm distinction between what's true and what they wish was true. There was no point confronting her on it. In fact, he kind of wished he were still at that stage. Wouldn't that be nice? I wish I hadn't broken my vows. Therefore, I didn't.

"Deal!" Serena shook his hand solemnly.

"Deah!! Deah!!" Isabel said, eager to take part in the 'Deal' ritual as always, even though she had no idea what it meant. He shook her hand too.

"OK, we're done here, go brush your teeth," he told the two older girls. "Isabel, can you bring me a diaper? Bring Daddy a diaper, sweetie," he pointed to the drawers where they kept the diapers. "Under there, no, not there, the next one over. Good girl!" he took the diaper from her and lifted her onto the table.

It was rather comforting to have certain rituals to fall back on, certain things that were always done just so. Tidy up the toys, brush teeth, change diaper, pj's, story, sleepy night night kisses for everyone. You could do it automatically. You could know that no matter what else was going on in the outside world or in your head, this would turn out right. Three little girls would go to sleep peacefully, secure in their little world. You could at least do that for them, no matter what you had done wrong the day before.

**ooo000ooo**

After the girls were finally in bed, he came downstairs to the living room, where Deborah was tidying up.

"How did it go with the Lieutenant this afternoon?" she asked, going straight to the point. He sighed and sat down, indicating the space beside him on the couch. As she sank down beside him, he organized his thoughts.

"You're staying partnered with him." Deborah began for him. He looked at her, a little startled, then realized it really wasn't that big a leap. He would've told her right away if he wasn't.

"Yes."

"Rey..."

"He's gonna contact his PBA rep and set up a meeting with Van Buren. He's probably gonna be on some kind of probation. Van Buren told him he was on thin ice."

"No kidding."

"I'm supposed to keep an eye on him, let her know if anything happens."

"You're supposed to be his guardian?" she asked skeptically.

"Something like that."

"That's not your job."

"I don't have a problem with it."

"You shouldn't have to do that for your own partner."

"He helped me out a lot when I was just starting out in Homicide," he reminded her.

"That's different. Everybody goes through that. And it's part of the job, helping to train new detectives. This is... you shouldn't have to do this, keep an eye on an alcoholic."

"Recovering alcoholic," he corrected her automatically. Two days ago he wouldn't have made that distinction.

"Not so recovered, obviously," she shot back.

He sighed. "Deborah... he really won't go back to drinking," he tried to reassure her.

"You can't be sure."

"No," he admitted. "But you can't really be sure of anybody. Another partner might not drink but they might freeze in a dangerous situation. Or they could be on the take."

Silence.

"I trust him," he told her gently. A lot more than I trust myself at this point in my life, he reflected. Lennie at least had experience screwing up and then picking up the pieces. Deborah looked away.

"OK," she sighed. For a moment he was a little nonplussed.

"OK?" he repeated uncertainly.

"OK. You're not the only one who can do some thinking, you know. I thought about it while you were sleeping and I guess if you can forgive him and try to trust him, I can too. To err is human, to forgive divine and all that." She sighed again and drew his arm around herself, nestling into his shoulder. He rested his head on hers. "I'm not happy about it though," she warned him.

"I know."

"I worry about you."

"I know." As if he could ever forget.

"If he drinks again, you have to promise to get a new partner."

"I will."

They were silent for a few minutes.

"Was it really that awful?" her voice was soft.

"What?"

"The execution."

He thought for a moment. "No, not awful... just... it was difficult. I guess... I guess he just didn't handle it very well. And then there was the whole mess with his daughter..."

At the hospital Lennie had spoken in short bursts about his lunch with Cathy. Rey shook his head, thinking how painful it must have been for Lennie to hear the words his daughter had said to him. Having his own child hate him. Your child was supposed to look up to you, trust you, love you. How hurtful it must be to know that she didn't, that she hated and resented you instead. Especially if you knew she had every right to.

It was a good thing he hadn't told Deborah about what he'd done. Deborah would probably take off, their family would be broken, and the girls would most likely grow to hate him as Lennie's daughter hated him, and with good reason. And that would be too high a price to pay for one mistake. It would serve him right, but he couldn't take it. As hard as it was facing his children's loving eyes knowing he'd betrayed them, he supposed it would be harder to face them if they knew it too.

Deborah sighed. "I'm just glad you're not a 'recovering alcoholic' or something. I don't have to worry about you falling off the wagon over anything like that."

Rey held her closer, wishing he didn't have to lie to her. Wishing he didn't have to feel these pangs of guilt for every innocent comment Deborah threw his way that reminded him of what he'd done. Although Deborah was being unusually forgiving about Lennie's drinking... maybe if he did ever tell her... no, never mind. She might forgive him, or she might kill him or walk out on him. Much as he wanted to be honest with her, he couldn't take the chance. For her sake and the sake of the children, if not for his own.

**ooo000ooo**

The next morning, Lennie was still subdued. They didn't have any new cases, just following up leads from some old ones, and there was no easy joking back and forth as usual. He and Lennie just mechanically went through the motions of calling, taking notes, and looking through files.

"Lennie? You doing OK?" he asked for the third time that morning.

"Yeah."

"It's almost one o'clock. We should get ready to go to the funeral."

"Right."

"You sure you're all right?"

"Rey, cut it out. You don't do nursemaid real well," Lennie half-snapped at him tiredly.

"Sorry," Rey muttered, accepting the rebuke. He should probably back off, even though Lennie still looked like crap. He thought about how annoying it would be to have somebody looking at him worriedly like he was doing, and decided maybe he should find some excuse to just not be near Lennie at all for a while, give him some space. Maybe after the funeral he could go look up some leads in person, leave Lennie at the precinct.

Lennie closed his eyes for a moment. "No, I'm sorry. Let's go."

This was awkward. They were still unsure how to work together with things the way they were. Rey supposed they were just going to have to muddle through.

**ooo000ooo**

Rey and Lennie entered the Ginghampton Funeral Home close to 2pm. There were Claire's parents, and McCoy. And Van Buren, and Adam Schiff, and a bunch of other lawyers they vaguely recognized from Hogan Place. Some defense attorneys too. They went and found a seat with Van Buren.

Claire's mother still seemed to be in shock. Her stepfather looked lost, somehow smaller than he had been at the hospital. Rey felt a wave of sympathy for them. The death of a child... Rey had read somewhere that it was the one trauma from which nobody ever fully recovered. The death of a spouse, divorce, cancer, rape, serious injury... eventually most human beings were able to move on, to heal. The death of a child was the one psychological trauma from which there was no complete recovery. People went on, people survived, but they were never the same again. And from what Rey had seen of his own parents after his sister had died, it was true.

McCoy... Rey felt another wave of sympathy as he looked at McCoy. He would have thought that the last person he'd ever feel sympathy for would be McCoy, but... this had to be incredibly painful. And it must be doubly painful for him to go back to work. He'd be seeing Claire's absence everywhere. Work was where he spent most of his waking hours, and now that would be irrevocably changed. Rey wondered how McCoy would deal with it.

He wondered how he would feel if it was Deborah's funeral. Didn't even bear thinking about. She was too much a part of his life to think what it would be like without her. At least that was one benefit of keeping quiet. Guilt aside, at least his world was as intact as it could be after what he had done. Thinking of McCoy going home to an empty apartment, suddenly single, suddenly alone, he knew he should consider himself lucky.

The service was short, non-denominational, not what Rey was used to in terms of funerals but he supposed Claire wasn't religious. And a funeral should reflect the person who died. This did.

The funeral director got up at the podium. After a few brief introductory phrases, she launched into the eulogy. She spoke about having gotten to know Claire from speaking to those who were close to her. Told how they described Claire as a dedicated, idealistic young woman who took a job at the DA's office despite its relatively low pay, because she wanted to make a difference. Told how she wasn't afraid to stand up for herself or to question herself, in the pursuit of making sure that what she did was the right thing to do. How she faced life and conflict head-on.

"On the last day of her life, Claire witnessed an execution. She went because she felt she had an obligation to do so. She had helped to convict a man, helped to bring him to the executioner's table, and she felt she had to witness for herself what her actions had helped to bring about. And this in spite of the fact that Claire didn't agree with the death penalty, that she had argued against it, that if she had had a choice that man would not have been executed," the director paused, glancing at Claire's stepfather. Rey supposed he must have told her about that. He wondered what Claire and her stepfather had talked about during their conversation.

"That was Claire. She didn't hide from anything, didn't avoid anything. She faced it, dealt with it, examined it. Socrates once said that an unexamined life is not worth living. Claire Kincaid's life was worth living. Until the very last day of her life, she was thinking about what was fair, what was right, and what her role was to ensure that the right thing happened."

As the director continued her eulogy, Rey bowed his head. Claire had spent her last day actually dealing with how she felt about the execution. He, on the other hand, had spent the same day avoiding his feelings. And now she was dead and he was alive. When she died, she had no reason to feel remorse, no reason for regrets. If he died now... he certainly couldn't say the same.

**ooo000ooo**

After the funeral was done, there was a small reception at the funeral home. Rey, Lennie and Van Buren moved to get coffees, speaking in hushed tones. McCoy joined them briefly.

"How are you doing, Counselor?" Van Buren asked him quietly.

"Fine, fine," he answered her a bit brusquely.

"Oh - Claire left this at the precinct," Van Buren handed him a notebook. "It probably has case notes or something."

He took it from her, staring at it. "Yes, that's her general purpose notebook. Interviews and case notes. I heard your message on her machine saying you had it. Thanks," he put it in his pocket. "Why did she come into the precinct?"

"She came in to talk to Lennie, actually, then stayed to chat. We had Chinese takeout."

Lennie glanced at her, puzzled. "Why'd she wanna talk to me?"

"I think it was probably about the execution."

Lennie nodded, looking grim. Rey looked away from the self-blame on his face. It wasn't hard to follow his train of thought. While Claire was talking to Van Buren, Lennie had been getting drunk, probably. Or maybe just thinking about getting drunk. In any case, if he'd been at the precinct he would've been there to talk to her and he wouldn't have fallen off the wagon. And she wouldn't have driven him home, and she'd still be alive.

McCoy was also looking away. "What did she say?" he asked casually.

"We talked about the system. Dealing with people's lives, knowing how much our jobs affect them. How we each cope with that." McCoy nodded. We don't cope with it very well, thought Rey. At least, the three of us didn't.

"She was having a hard time with it," Van Buren said.

"I know," McCoy said distantly.

"McCoy... if there's anything we can do..."

"Yeah. Thanks," McCoy said quietly, and excused himself. They were left standing together, not sure what to do next. Van Buren cleared her throat and turned to Lennie.

"Lennie? Did you call the PBA rep?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. How's Monday sound?"

"Fine."

"Two o'clock?" Van Buren nodded. "Just so you know... I don't, uh, I don't have a problem with what you said."

"Which part?"

"The PBA rep said I could make a case that you can't make me go to AA or check in with you, but I don't have a problem with it."

"OK."

"Just set it up however you want."

Van Buren glanced at Rey, worried like him at Lennie's uncharacteristically subdued manner. "Lennie... I'm not trying to give you a hard time. I'm not trying to belittle you," she said, more hesitantly than she ever talked to them. Van Buren was usually so firm, no-nonsense. But Lennie's downcast manner seemed to disturb her, make her unsure of herself.

"I know."

"I'm just worried about you. You're a damn good detective, I don't want to lose you to a bottle."

"I know. Thanks."

Rey cleared his throat. "Want me there too on Monday?"

"Yeah, might as well."

"OK," Rey nodded. Hopefully this time Lennie would be able to stand up for himself, although it didn't look like Van Buren was going to be too hard on him.

Van Buren excused herself and went to pay her respects to Claire's parents.

Lennie glanced at Rey. "So... did you tell Deborah we're still partnered?"

"Yeah."

"How did that go?"

"Pretty good, actually."

"She OK with it?"

"Yeah."

Lennie again got a feeling that something was wrong. He'd never seen his partner look so... distant when talking about Deborah. Maybe he'd had a fight with her.

"Did you talk to her about the execution?"

"Not much," Rey was characteristically closemouthed.

Lennie nodded. Back off. OK. He looked at his watch. "You wanna get going?"

"Yeah. Let's go pay our respects and go."

As they left, both were quiet, thinking about the funeral. Rey pulled up in front of the precinct. "Aren't you gonna park?" Lennie asked him.

"Uh, no, there's a couple leads I wanted to follow in person for the Nelligan case. You go on in, I'll be back in a couple hours."

"OK. See you later."

Rey drove off, and decided to make a stop before going to talk to Sue Nelligan's neighbour.

**ooo000ooo**

Church. It was quiet, late afternoon, almost empty. Rey found a pew, crossed himself, and bowed his head.

He thought again about the funeral director's eulogy for Claire Kincaid, how Claire had dealt with her feelings. How he hadn't. It seemed pretty ridiculous now. Cowardly.

He knew now how he felt. The death penalty was a necessary evil. He'd never be able to joke about it, not after actually seeing somebody strapped down with a needle in his arm, but he'd never shy away from it either. What had happened to Mickey Scott was right. It was partly his fault that Scott had died, and there was no getting away from that responsibility. There was no getting away from the fact that, rather than being proud of having made the world a better place by taking Scott out of it, he felt responsible and wished it hadn't had to be that way. But it did have to be that way. It beat all other alternatives as a method for dealing with evil deeds like Scott's. Scott gave them no choice, and in the end, the ultimate responsibility for Mickey Scott's fate had lain with Mickey Scott himself. Rey hadn't forced him to rape and kill Adele Saunders. Nobody had.

The only choice Rey had had was to do his job, a job that he believed in, even when it resulted in a man's death. He'd made his peace a long time ago with the fact that as a cop he might some day be directly responsible for the death of a human being, a bullet from his gun ending the life of a person. This was no different. He was OK with the execution as a cop sworn to protect and to serve.

As a Catholic... he'd leafed through the Bible and Catechism a lot in the last couple of days. Mostly for guidance to cope with his infidelity, but also to deal with the death penalty. Realizing that he had to, he couldn't just run away from it forever. And there it was.

_The traditional teaching of the Church does not exclude, presupposing full ascertainment of the identity and responsibility of the offender, recourse to the death penalty, when this is the only practicable way to defend the lives of human beings effectively against the aggressor._

It was the only way, in the case of Scott and others like him. He was OK with the execution as a Catholic who believed in the sanctity of life. The execution was not carried out as a means of vengeance, or out of anger, or out of greed or any other self-serving motive. It was done to protect innocent people against a monster. A monster in human form, perhaps, but a monster nonetheless. Believing in the sanctity of life sometimes meant protecting people from one who would willfully take a life.

If only he'd had the sense to do all this before he sinned. Before he betrayed his wife and his children and himself. He felt a wave of remorse. Such a huge mistake, committed to avoid doing some difficult soul-searching that he'd ended up doing in the end anyway.

The last two days had been like purgatory or something. He'd done more thinking, more praying, more grieving, than he could ever remember doing in his whole life. He felt emotionally spent, tired... punished for his sin. And he knew this was just the beginning. He was going to feel this way for a long, long time. It would eventually get better, but he knew he'd never have the same image of himself that he had before.

Maybe that was God's plan. Maybe he was too proud, too arrogant and self-righteous. He'd certainly been accused of that enough times. Maybe this was his due for thinking he was better than most of the people he dealt with. And not just criminals and other lowlifes like that, but even people like Jack McCoy and Lennie. Maybe this was God's way of making him more humble. God's punishment for his sins, not just his sin of adultery, but his sin of pride.

He thought of McCoy, going home to an empty apartment, an empty office. Realized that he was lucky, that his punishment could have been worse, that there were worse things than hurting from having betrayed the woman he loved. He could have lost her. Didn't matter that he probably deserved to lose her, it still would hurt too much to contemplate.

He thought of Lennie and realized he was lucky in another way. At least he didn't have to deal with everybody being aware that he'd screwed up. Just him, Father Morelli and God. That was plenty. He didn't know what he'd do if he was where Lennie was right now, not only dealing with his failure but dealing with the fact that everybody knew about it, everybody was going to judge him. He really wouldn't be able to face that. Hoped he'd never be called to face it, because he doubted he'd be able to cope with it with grace, as Lennie was doing.

Thank You, God. Forgive me my weakness, and thank You for not putting me where McCoy is, having lost the woman he loves. Thank You for not putting me where Lennie is, having lost his dignity, being shamed before all of us. You never give us more than we can bear, and it seems like this is more than I can bear right now, but I know it's not.

And thank You for allowing me to do my penance without hurting my family. I trust You, that this will get better, that I will be able to deal with what I did and hopefully learn from it, become a better person than I was before. I can bear the shame and the guilt, I can even bear the pain of having to lie to my wife, if that's truly Your will.

He crossed himself, stood up, and left the church.

**ooo000ooo**

**Author's Note:** The notebook and answering machine message McCoy refers to isn't canon, it's actually from Kyllikki's awesome fic, Deus Ex Machina. I liked it so much I just had to refer to it :)

If anybody wants the actual script for Aftershock, e-mail me at

ciroccoj2002 at yahoo dot com


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